


To Build A Home

by vitamindesi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Cas Whump, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Homeless Castiel, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vitamindesi/pseuds/vitamindesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Smith has known only duty and responsibility; first to his family and now to Sandover Inc as a financial analyst. While he has achieved some measure of success, his days are spent working and his nights alone in his upscale apartment. He doesn’t have time to think about meeting anyone or even acknowledge the desire for it. All of that changes the night he finds a homeless man using the company washroom.<br/>Castiel Milton was once a heavy hitting defense attorney who knew the score when it came to his clients. He could get the guilty get off without so much as a slap on the wrist...until a rapist with both money and influence needed defending, even with miles of evidence against him. He refused to defend him, and his family retaliated, stripping Castiel of everything. Homeless for two years, he's lost all hope, going through the motions of surviving; his life only made better by the happenstance of meeting Donny and Victor, employees of Sandover that let him in to use the company washrooms to bathe and to wash his clothes. In what feels like the blink of an eye, surviving becomes living, hopelessness turns into faith when he meets a man who might not be homeless but knows what it means to only go through the motions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happenstance

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings will be posted at the end of chapter notes for those of you who need them, so you can just click and go straight to them without giving away things to those who don't have any!! There are none in this chapter.

_Dear Mr. Smith,_

_We thank you for your ten years working for Sandover Incorporated. Your work with us has been excellent and always exceeds expectations. As our thank you for your dedication to our company, you’ve been presented with a five dollar pay raise, which will be added to your paycheck one business week after receiving this letter, as well as an additional two days of vacation. We look forward to another ten years with you._

__

_Regards,_

_The Management Team at Sandover Incorporated_

Dean grunted and dropped the letter on the table, scrubbing his hand over his weekend scruff. He should be happy about this, right? A pay raise, extra vacation time...what wasn’t there to like? _Well_ , he thought duly, _it might have something to do with the fact that I’ve spent ten years chained to this freaking desk running financial analyses for a company that is apparently trying to take over the world._ And the inescapable fact that he hadn’t meant to get trapped at said company for so many years, either.

He downed the rest of his coffee and stood up, straightening his tie. The letter had come on Friday, and it’d spent the entire weekend taunting him from the dining room table, amidst a pile of bills and junk mail. He wasn’t sure what to do about it. Should he call Sam and tell him about it? Or is it really not that big of a deal? What was the proper way to react to this?

He walked to the bathroom, deciding that the best plan of action would be not to react to it at all. He brushed his teeth and ran an electric razor over his chin and neck, a quick swipe on his upper lip and he suddenly looked like the professional he was paid to be, no longer a thirty year old bachelor living by himself and sleeping through the weekends.

The trip to the office was a short one, per usual. Traffic in this part of town was pretty quiet at eight in the morning, so Dean always arrived at the office at eight-fifteen, right on time. Like every day, on his way into the building, Donny, the head of the janitorial staff gave him a slight head nod and salute, which Dean always returned. Victor, their head of security hollered a hello as well.

His secretary, Ella, greeted him at the doorway of his office with a bottle of champagne wrapped intricately with a ribbon. She was bouncing on her toes, her eyes gleaming, a grin stretched across her face. “Congratulations Mr. Smith! I got the email about your pay raise and the extra vacation time. Just let me know when you’re going to take that so we can schedule it for you!”

Dean smiled graciously at her. “Thanks, Ella. You’re a doll. What do we got for today?” He took the bottle of champagne from her and set it delicately on his bookshelf before situating himself behind his desk, folding his hands carefully.

Ella immediately straightened, going into business mode. She flipped open her PDA, tucking her bangs behind her ear. “Let’s see. You’ve got a meeting today with Mr. Adler and the marketing team at ten to discuss the costs of our newest advertisement plans. Your lunch will be delivered at twelve-thirty from Nature Cafe. You’ve got a progress report due at the end of the week that you said you’d like to start after your lunch hour. Does that sound right?”

Dean nodded, closing his eyes in thought. “I think that’s all of it. What was my lunch order again?”

Ella tapped the screen a few times and cleared her throat. “You ordered a cobb salad with a green smoothie. Sound good?”

Dean nodded. He was already looking forward to that salad, dammit. “Thank you Ella. I’m going to go over the information for this meeting, God forbid I come in with nothing for Adler.”

Ella laughed, pinching up her face. “Well, I’ll be out here if you need anything sir!”

Dean gave her a salute and she closed the door behind herself, leaving him alone in his office.

The Monday went by like any other Monday did. Dean organized his notes for the meeting, Adler cornered him right before it to scold Dean for being five minutes late to work last Friday (there was a major accident two exits before his, what did he expect?). Lunch was the most enjoyable part of the day (and wasn’t that depressing?). He got done with his work early enough to hit the gym that Sandover Inc offered to its employees and spent way too long in the shower hall, because he had yet to fix the water pressure in his own apartment.

He debated calling Sam that night, but he recalled Sam telling him about this new case he was working on. He was still merely a legal assistant, yet to be a lawyer, but his job kept him busy as ever.

Not that Dean was complaining. He couldn’t be prouder of his little brother. He took the reigns of his life and blew through law school at a scary pace and hooked himself a job in the nation’s largest law firm, skipping over internships entirely. They spoke twice a week over the phone, when Sam could catch a break from his work to fill Dean in about his life and hassle Dean about not having a relationship. He’d drive up to Los Angeles twice a month to have lunch and a beer and harass Dean even further about dating.

Dean always looked forward to those weekends.

He looked forward to the day he could tell Sam something new in his life.

* * *

 

Dean Smith liked his routine. He liked getting up at seven on the weekdays and having his cup of coffee while reading yesterday’s mail. He liked adjusting his tie in the mirror next to the door before leaving, scooping his keys from the bowl and locking the door behind him. He liked to get into his Impala, and play Led Zeppelin as loudly as he could driving down the highway and then turning it down as he turned the corner for Sandover. He liked to go to the gym on the days he got out on time, at five o'clock, and run on the treadmill, imagining coming home to a home cooked meal and a kiss on the cheek. He liked to actually go home then and shower and stare into his fridge for five minutes before heating up a can of soup and watching the news until he went to bed.

So, on the few occasions that his routine got interrupted, Dean would be irritated. In this case though, he was livid. His hair was no longer sitting primly on top of his head. It’d been scruffed up with how many times he’d run his hands through it in frustration. He had a line of ink across his cheek when Ella had knocked on the door and the pen he was chewing on slipped from his mouth. His tie was askew, the clip somewhere on the floor from when the corner of the desk yanked it off.

Adler had burst into his office, completely usurping Ella’s abilities to let Dean know herself in a calmer manner. Dean nearly dumped his coffee onto his suit but shifted at just the right time, but was still unable to prepare himself for Adler’s displaced anger.

One of the financial assistants had lost Dean’s analysis of marketing costs versus profit from the month before. And, Ella, bless her heart, believed it had already reached HQ and been backed up, and had deleted it from Dean’s system to keep his computer running clean and smoother.

So naturally, it was all Dean’s fault. He had to pay for the assistant’s screw up with four and a half hours of overtime, and no trip to the gym that night.

By the time that eight-thirty rolled around, he was exhausted, his back ached and he’d eaten more pistachios than he needed to as he reworked the spreadsheet he had sent in a week ago. Finally though, he had enough done that he could complete and retouch it in the morning, and have it ready to send in for Adler before his lunch break.

Dean turned off the light in his office and wrote a short thank-you on a sticky note for Ella and her neverending patience.

As he walked down the halls, he thought he heard something beyond his own echoing footsteps. He paused, hiking his shoulder bag up a little higher, straining his ears. It sounded like….the showers in the gym? It was entirely possible that someone had stayed late to work out, except for the fact that Donny had bid Dean farewell at six o’clock, informing him that he was the only one left in the building for the night. So, who the heck was here?

Dean walked the rest of the way down the hallway, curiosity getting the better of him. It truly wasn’t his business; he should be heading home and getting ready for bed and the hell that tomorrow would bring.

He poked his head around the corner, humid and soapy smelling air assaulting his senses. There was a man, thin and tall, bent over the sinks. He had a towel wrapped tightly around his waist, brown hair still dripping over his frame. Soap suds were spilling over the ledge of the sink, covering all the way up to his elbows. A sample bottle of Tide detergent lay overturned next to him, a dirty knapsack in a pile on the countertop. He was scrubbing vigorously at whatever was in the sink, humming under his breath a little bit.

Dean’s shoe slipped on the floor suddenly, emitting a loud squeak that echoed over the tile. The man at the sink, whirled around, pressing himself into the counter. His eyes were shockingly blue, even from all the way across the room. He was shaking.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t-I’ll get my things. Just please don’t call the, the-”

Dean raised a hand, cutting off the man’s tangent. “Hey, buddy, chill! It’s all good. Was just wondering who the hell was here as late as me. Take it easy, alright man?”

He nodded jerkily as Dean backed out of the shower room and made his way to the elevators.

To put it lightly, Castiel was shaken. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d been caught on property after hours. Each of those occurrences did not go nearly as well as that one he just had. His hands were still shaking, adrenaline coursing through his system, preparing him to grab his things and run.

Granted, he was glad that the man didn’t freak out and threaten him. All of his clothes were still in the sink, soapy and gritty with the dirt he’d managed to wash from them. Had he been forced to leave, he very likely would have gotten arrested for public indecency, because although he was homeless, wearing sopping wet clothes was something he’d never be able to do.

Castiel sent a thank you to the heavens that the man had merely been curious and wanted to go home.

He sat on the benches for an hour, his head cradled in his hands, watching the towel drying machine shake and click, sucking the water from his now clean clothes. He was looking forward to sliding the worn fabric back over his body. Sure, wearing the same thing day in and day out got old, but he didn’t dare try to go back to his old apartment to retrieve anything else.

His family had made damn sure that he wouldn’t be able to do that.

It was hard, thinking about who he used to be, his success. Thinking about it made it hurt to breathe, it made his head throb whenever he attempted to recall the series of events that led to his estrangement from his family. It was confusing and uncomfortable and made him feel even shittier than he did when he had to wear soggy shoes.

Eventually, the drying machine whirred to a stuttering stop and Castiel got up, his hips protesting loudly from having sat in the same position for so long. He pulled on his clothes, now dry and stiff, but smelling like _Lavender Love_ , courtesy of Tide giving away free samples of their new scents. Castiel had a handful more stuffed into his knapsack that he’d swiped when the attendant had her back turned during a demonstration. A few passerby’s had raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. By not needing to buy detergent, he’d been able to afford a PowerBar and a can of beans.

He made his way out of Sandover Inc cleaner and happier for it. The walk back to his little hole-in-the-wall wasn’t near as tedious as it could have been, now that he wasn’t crusted with dry sweat or flakes of dirt.

Castiel walked the two miles to the old apartment complexes on the outer edge of the city. He glanced around, and ducked in between the buildings. With a grunt, he hauled the dumpster a little to the left, revealing a heavy tarp nailed into the brick of the building. He reached between the tarp and the wall, unhooking it to dump his knapsack just inside, before ducking under and dragging the dumpster back into place.

He was sure that if the complex neighboring the one he was squatting in hadn’t been condemned, his hideout surely would have been revealed by now. But since there had been a near irreversible infestation of termites, the apartment had been cleared out years ago, and the city never had the funding to do anything with it. So, the building remained, rotting and abandoned, getting eaten from the inside out.

Castiel didn’t care. He’d planted termite killer around the dumpster hiding the entryway to prevent the spread of them. So far, he’d been relatively successful. His home stayed pretty dry when it rained, thanks to the thick tarp he’d salvaged from someone’s industrial dumpster. The sleeping bag was something he’d been given at a homeless shelter when he fell asleep on a chair at the soup kitchen. The knapsack and pillows were also things he’d dug out from someone’s garbage and roughly cleaned.

It had been a good month and a half after he lost everything before he got more than two hours of sleep at a time. When he’d discovered Sandover Inc, it had been a blessing. Donny had found him sitting under the awning at the back door, shivering and cold in the rain. He told him if he could just stick it out for another hour, he’d let him in to use the showers after the other employees left.

At first, Donny had watched him like a hawk. He trailed Castiel around shower hall, staring at him as he stared at the drying machine, turning away respectfully when he decided to take a second shower and relish in the hot water.

Finally, after six months, Donny trusted him enough to let him into the building right before he left himself. At first, Castiel had been wracked with nerves. What if he got caught? What if Donny lost his job? He took the fastest shower that he could manage and darted from the building like a bat out of hell.

The next day after that, Donny had brought Castiel a hot meal from Panera, which had all but made him drool helplessly when it was held out to him. How long had it been since he’d had a meal that cost more than two dollars?

A week after that Donny had introduced Castiel to the newest security manager. He was assured that this man, Victor, would make sure he could use the showers if Donny had to leave early or was unavailable. Castiel was overwhelmed with gratefulness, near tears in the fact that he couldn’t give anything back to these men.

Victor only clapped him hard on the back and laughed, “just don’t steal nothin’, that’s how to thank us.” Castiel laughed nervously in response. It’d been a painfully long time since he’d experienced such selflessness.

So that night, he crawled into a ratty sleeping bag in a hole in the wall of an apartment complex, and fell asleep feeling clean, and not as hungry as he could have been.

* * *

 

After the disaster of the financial assistant (and their subsequent swap to another office), Dean’s life settled back into its routine of comfort. He tried a new brand of coffee when Sam came to visit and they ran out. He’d sent his little brother to the store, only to have him come back with some Starbucks crap instead of his fair trade organic Kona. He didn’t admit it out loud, but the Starbucks brand was a little dull to him. He smiled and gulped it down for Sam, though.

As always, Sam spent the weekend asking Dean about potential date opportunities he had. He tried to take Dean out to the bar on Friday and Saturday night. Dean had soundly refused, opting instead to purchase some frilly microbrew and marathon Star Wars for the night, tucking Sam in on the couch at three am when he fell asleep, his hand buried in the popcorn bowl.

It wasn’t until he was driving back from the train station that he realized he’d never told Sam about his raise, the letter he gotten, or the weird homeless guy he’d run into that late night. Whether it was because he spent the weekend diffusing his brothers’ attempts to talk him into dating again, or it just wasn’t that important to him; he couldn’t tell.

Oddly enough, that homeless guy kept showing up. When construction began on the front walkway, all employees were instructed to leave through the back doors. Dean saw Donny sitting with the homeless guy, passing him a bag from Wendy’s. Dean watched the man’s eyes light up and he took Donny’s hands between his, his mouth forming the words ‘thank you’ over and over again. Donny merely shrugged him off, giving him a two-fingered salute before walking back into the building.

Dean’s eyes narrowed in curiosity at the exchange but an annoyed grumble erupted from his stomach, disrupting any further dissection of the incident.

The third time he saw the homeless man, he was talking to Donny again. It was six in the evening, which meant that Dean was leaving late again. He raised a confused eyebrow but turned away just before they both looked towards him. He hated the fact that curiosity was getting the better of him. He couldn’t, for the life of himself, figure out who that guy was and why he was getting so chummy with Donny. On the other hand, the rational side of Dean’s brain knew that Donny talked with everyone, and frequently volunteered at the soup kitchen. He was an irritatingly nice guy, the kind of person that made you reevaluate all of your actions towards others.

And apparently, that’s exactly what he was doing to Dean now.

The only reason that Dean realized this, is because he ran into Mr. Mysterious-Homeless-Dude again a week later. It’d been another late night, having realized that afternoon that he had a meeting with Adler the next day, and his report was still incomplete. So rather than getting out at five, he left his office only an hour later.

His whole body was protesting though. He’d been sitting all day, with minimal movement. _A quick stint on the treadmill, a few reps, and I’ll be good_ , he thought.

Indeed, that was all he really needed. He stepped into the shower hall feeling rejuvenated and less sluggish than he'd felt all day. He paused though, three steps in. There was homeless dude again! He stared at Dean, eyes wide and fearful. Dean nodded at him and stepped into the shower.

The guy was here so often...was he actually homeless? Or maybe just living in poverty? Curiosity got the better of him, and Dean couldn't help himself when he was towelling off to ask the guy, "so do you live around here?"

Curious blue eyes stared at him and then darted down to his feet. Dean felt his face get warm. "Oh..."

And there, in the back of his mind was Donny, cheerfully giving twenty dollars to a homeless couple, going around the office building asking for donations for the local shelter, or explaining his weekend would be spent picking up garbage along his road.

Without his brain's permission, Dean's mouth opened and he said, "well listen. I've got a nicer shower at my apartment and a good couch to crash on. And a fully stocked kitchen that I rarely use. Does that sound good to you, at least for tonight?"

The man eyed him warily, almost reluctantly. "What do you want?" He asked quietly.

It took Dean's brain a moment to catch up and understand what he was being asked. His eyes widened and he back pedaled. "Whoa, dude, nothing! I want nothing! I just. I dunno man, thought it might be something you'd like. I don't-"

"I would like it," he cut Dean off. "It's just unexpected."

Dean grinned widely. "But not unwanted?"

"Of course not," he mumbled in reply.

“Good,” Dean’s smile grew larger. “I’m Dean. Dean Smith.”

And that's how Dean found himself opening the door of his apartment for a homeless guy he'd barely met. His name turned out to be Castiel, which sounded like a mouthful, yet familiar, in some way. Dean couldn't put his finger on it.

Instead, he threw his jacket over a chair in the dining room. “Bathroom’s that way,” he pointed. Feel free to use anything in there; towels and such are in the closet. Go ahead and clean up and I’ll cook us some grub.” He paused. “Hold on, lemme grab you some pajamas, too.” He disappeared around the corner. Castiel heard drawers opening and closing, and Dean reappeared with a pair of plaid pants and a worn T-shirt in hand, a pair of boxers folded between the two items. He handed them to Castiel like an offering, his smile bright.

Castiel blinked at him, and took the clothing gently from Dean’s grasp, turning and shuffling to the bathroom, closing the door quietly.

He leaned heavily against the wall, staring down at the pajamas. The plaid pants were soft between his fingers, the shirt thin with wear. It smelled musky and dark, but clean with detergent. His heart ached suddenly; this would be the first time in a handful of months that he’d be able to wear something other than the clothes on his back or in his knapsack.

He took his time in the shower, scrubbing Dean’s soap carefully all over himself and shampooing his hair twice, watching dirt swirl happily down the drain. He found an unopened razor and ran it carefully over his face and neck, shaving away the weeks of scruff he’d built up since the last time he’d had access to a razor. He washed his body again before turning off the water, and drying himself with a fluffy towel. He found a bargain sized jug of body lotion underneath the sink and rubbed it delightfully all over his body. Too long, he’d felt dry and chapped, as though his skin would shatter and fall off of him at any moment.

Finally, Castiel deemed himself ready to leave the bathroom. He brought his dirty clothes and the towel that he used with him. The pajama pants that Dean lent him hung low on his hips, the shirt hugged him warmly. He entered the kitchen to see Dean leaning over the stove, singing something lightly under his breath. His shirt was untucked now, a few buttons undone to reveal the dark undershirt stretched across his chest. He looked more relaxed than Castiel thought he’d ever seen.

The kitchen smelled of Italian spices and tomato. Castiel’s stomach released a loud grumble, prompting Dean to turn around. He smiled at the sight of Castiel. “You look a lot better, man,” he praised. “Take a seat. There’s garlic bread in the oven. Spaghetti and meatballs, sound good?”

His stomach let out another near violent grumble. "I think it sounds like a godsend."

Dean's smile was full of pride. Cooking was one of the few things he considered himself good at, and feeding people was among his favorite things to do.

In another few minutes, Castiel had a plate of pasta drowning in sauce and topped with two meatballs, crumbling over the side. A hearty amount of parmesan dusted the top of the plate and Castiel had to wipe his mouth, checking for drool. Dean was watching him expectantly. How long had he been staring at this plate?

He picked up his fork tentatively, trying to remember the manners he hadn’t been forced to use for the last two years or so. He twirled his fork into the pasta, releasing another billow of steam, the scent of the food making his head spin. He took a bite, slurping the stray noodle into his mouth, and then moaned obscenely at the explosion of flavor on his tongue.

When Castiel opened his eyes again, Dean was staring at him, his face contorted into an odd expression. He cleared his throat and turned to prepare his own plate. “Glad you like it,” he said quietly, taking his own seat.

They ate in silence for several minutes, the only sound being their forks scraping the plates or Castiel’s happy sighs every now and again. When he bit into the garlic bread, he let out another loud moan and sigh. Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, nearly inhaling a noodle.

Did the guy even understand how hot he was? Homeless or not, he cleaned up well, as though he transformed into another person. His face, now clean from the scruff and his hair drying at a crazy gravity-defying angle; he now looked painfully familiar to Dean. His brain struggled to recall where he’d seen this man before, but all he could conclude was that he’d bumped into him from time to time entering the office.

Dean cleared his throat after his next bite and asked, “are you okay with a pull out bed?”

Castiel cocked his head just slightly to the side, regarding Dean with something akin to disbelief. “Dean...sleeping on your floor alone would be a luxury compared to what I have. I’ll sleep wherever is most convenient for you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, feeling his neck heat up. Of course Castiel would appreciate anything he had to offer. The man likely slept on park benches when he could.

The rest of dinner was, thankfully, less awkward. Castiel wanted seconds but the food was so rich compared to what he normally ate, he feared getting sick and upsetting Dean’s hospitality. Dean, ever observant as always said, “if you get hungry in the middle of the night, the leftovers are on the top shelf in the fridge. You can just microwave it.” Castiel thanked him profusely.

The pullout couch was so comfortable in comparison to his lumpy and fraying sleeping bag that exhaustion hit him with the force of a runaway train. Dean chuckled as he tried to force himself to sit upright. “Dude, it’s okay. Get some sleep. I’m going to be getting up around six-forty five to get ready for work and have breakfast.”

His words faded slightly as Castiel drifted into sleep. With the last of his wakefulness, he managed to mumble, “thank you so much for your hospitality.”

Dean laid awake in his own bed for another hour, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what possessed him to let a homeless man sleep in his apartment for the night. The only thing that staved off the fears of Castiel turning out to be a psychopathic murderer was the fact that Victor and Donny seemed to trust him enough.

Why did he have to be so goddamned attractive, though?!

Castiel woke around one am, the sheets that Dean had provided him wrapped around his ankles, his arm asleep from laying on it awkwardly for four hours.

Four hours.

Castiel couldn’t remember the last time that he’d slept for longer than two or three hours at a time, his body naturally forcing him awake in fits of paranoia. As he laid there, his stomach complained mightily, unused to such heavy and fulfilling meals. That, or he was hungry again, though there was no way he’d digested that quickly after living off of PowerBars and beans for so long.

He rolled over, trying to force himself back to sleep. The relief of the pillowtop mattress under his back wasn’t making it such a feat. Just as he was going to close his eyes again, though, something on the end table caught his eye. It was a picture frame, the kind that held three photos side by side, with _family_ carved into the bottom of the frame. The first picture was of two young boys, and who appeared to be their mother and father standing behind them. The boys were sticking their tongues out at one another. The woman was staring kindly down at them, and the man’s eyes were turned towards the heavens, his arms lightly over the woman’s shoulders.

The second picture was of a young floppy-haired boy, a grin wide across his features. The same man from the first picture stood over the boy, his hands resting on his shoulders. The difference in this picture though, was in the man’s face. His eyes were deeper, more lines around them. Although he was smiling, the corners of his mouth looked like they were being weighed down by something out of the frame.

The third and final picture was of Dean and another young man, whose face held the same shape as the boy in the second picture. His hair was longer this time, tucked behind his ears. He and Dean held onto each other closely, their arms thrown over each others shoulders. They both had large grins on their faces, clearly having been laughing when the photo had been snapped.

It warmed Castiel’s heart. Dean Smith was very clearly a kind man, with a good heart, who loved the people close to him with all that he had to give. Castiel closed his eyes, falling asleep with the image of Dean’s smiling face and who appeared to be his brothers’ as well.

He woke again around seven-thirty in the morning to the smell of bacon and eggs, coffee tinging the corners of the scents. He stretched and groaned, his body sore and unused to such long spans of time spent sleeping.

“Mornin’ sleeping beauty!” Dean called cheerfully from the kitchen. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, as Castiel shuffled his way into the kitchen.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, taking in what seemed to be a small feast that Dean was laying out. “Um,” he mumbled. “Like I was on a cloud. What is all this?” he cocked his head.

Dean swallowed, eyes darting away as he scooped scrambled eggs onto a plate that had toast and bacon on it. “I, uh, I just feel bad, y’know? I want to do more for you. You’re a cool dude. I just. It’s the least I can do, sending you back out there on a full stomach.”

Castiel stood there and blinked at him for a moment. Did he not realize the extent of what he’d already provided? “I...Dean, none of this is necessary,” he said gently. “You’ve given me a place to sleep far more comfortable than I’ve had in years, a warm shower and you’ve trusted me in your home. This…” he gestured at the plate that Dean had placed in front of him. “Is merely extra. Unnecessary.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably as he scooped some eggs onto his own plate. He took a deep breath, as though bracing himself, and then blurted. “Eat up, man. I don’t often eat this kind of stuff, so let’s enjoy it.” He sat down and took a hearty bit of bacon, and then began to slather butter over his toast.

Castiel frowned slightly, but took a seat as well. When was the last time that he’d had a breakfast that wasn’t from the food bank or soup kitchen? He struggled to recall, but the thought disappeared from his mind as he took a bite, and the flavor burst over his tongue. He groaned weakly. Damn Dean Smith for spoiling him like this, when he knew he’d never have it again. Damn him!

After breakfast, when Castiel’s belly was swollen full with rich breakfast food, he tentatively requested another shower before Dean had to go to work. Dean shooed him towards the bathroom, telling him it was no big deal as he cleaned up the remnants of their breakfast.

While he was showering, a quiet knock was tapped out on the door. Initial panic flooded him. Had Dean changed his mind?

“Heya Cas, uh, here’s some extra clothes for you, and the ones you had too. I washed them.” He heard the door shut again quietly. A heavy exhale and he finished washing, ripping open the shower curtain.

A small stack of clothes were on the counter next to his towel, along with a gallon ziplock with a toothbrush, toothpaste, a fresh razor, lotion, chapstick, and a couple of dollars. There was more than just the clothes he’d been wearing. There was another shirt, two more pairs of boxers and a pair of jeans.

He came out of the bathroom, his hair still dripping, in his own clothes. Dean was sitting at the dining room table, coffee mug in one hand, a piece of mail in the other. He glanced up when Castiel entered the kitchen. “Feel better?” he asked, a small smile gracing his face.

Castiel nodded, and then said, “but I can’t take these, Dean. These are...yours. You’ve already extended so much hospitality towards me, I couldn’t.”

Dean rolled his eyes, taking a long swig of coffee. “Oh, stop it man. That-those have been in my Goodwill pile for months now. I’m just too much of a lazy bastard to take them there. They’ll do you more good than they will collecting dust in the back of my closet or some snotty hipster kids that refuse to spend more than a buck on jeans.”

Castiel stared at the small pile of clothes in his arms. “Thank you, Dean. Words cannot express my thanks for this.”

Dean awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “Don’t mention it, man. Seriously, don’t. Just...take care of yourself, alright?”

Castiel carefully placed the new items in his worn knapsack, carefully fitting them so that the seams didn’t tear any more than they already had. He snapped it shut and threw it over his shoulders just as Dean stood up to shrug his suit jacket on.

“Need a ride anywhere?”

Castiel hesitated, and then stammered, “the-the back road, near the condominiums?” At Dean’s raised eyebrow, he elaborated, “I collect recyclables around the city. I haven’t been there yet this week.”

Dean nodded his understanding. He’d be late again, but whatever. Adler could get bent, for all he cared. The other analysts were late far more regularly than Dean, but Dean often called out Adler on his mistakes in the midst of meetings, earning himself a sore spot on the CEO’s shoulder.

As Dean drove away from Castiel, he couldn’t help the painful tug in his chest. Castiel looked content there, a black industrial garbage bag in hand, his eyes scanning the ground around him before Dean had shifted back into drive. But he felt that there should have been more he could do for the man. He was thin-not painfully so-but just enough that Dean wished he’d done more.

A deep breath, and he gunned it towards Sandover. Oh well. The guy was buddies with Donny; he’d be seeing him again, eventually.

* * *

 

Dean and Castiel saw each other a few more times in the course of the next two months.  Dean had called out a few spoonerisms in Adler’s recent presentations and his punishment was rush analyses of prospective partners to send to the top floor.

So he figured, since he was staying late anyways, he might as well go to the gym, and simultaneously check up on Castiel.

Most nights, he was disappointed. Castiel didn’t show. He’d drag himself back home and make a quick salad before settling into bed for the evening.

The few nights that Castiel did show up involved conversations through shower stalls, discussing Castiel’s recycling rounds and Dean complaining about Adler. Sometimes Dean brought Castiel a small container of food from the last time he’d cooked, always something that didn’t require reheating, always something that was high in nutritional value.

Castiel always thanked him profusely, an adorable blush spreading over his cheeks and down his neck as he delicately placed the food in his knapsack.

When Sam asked Dean what was new with him recently, it didn't even cross his mind to tell him about Castiel and their random interactions. When he hung up the phone, it hit him that Sam had told him all about a new girlfriend, a few cases he was busy with, and his shitty boss. Dean had told him that Adler was being a douchebag and that he was thinking about getting a new fridge.

With that thought, Dean felt the chasm between he and his brother grow larger. He may be practically rolling in money, but at least his brother was doing what he wanted and was _happy_.

He wished that he could say the same for himself.

Castiel sat outside of Starbucks for a good couple of hours one morning, waiting for someone to recycle their newspaper or leave it at the table. Finally, one balding man stood up, looked at the table as though he wanted to clear it himself, and then hobbled away, one hand clutching his hip desperately.

Castiel waited a few beats before getting up and clearing the table on his own, grabbing the newspaper and walking down the street at a leisurely pace.

Michael and Raphael were on the front page again. Michael was holding a palm in front of his face, but Castiel could see the annoyed glare on his face, the thinly veiled disgust at the media. Raphael, as always, looked stoic as ever, but his eyes held a murderous glare that promised whoever let the news outlets outside of the courthouse they were in would soon meet their end. Of their career, at the very least.

Someone was suing them for letting off an arsonist with a mere handful of community service, even though the evidence was miles high that he’d set a home of a family of four on fire. But he was also incredibly well-off, so of course Raphael and Michael chose to defend him. History was determined to repeat itself.

Castiel shook his head. It was utterly disgusting. And even though he missed living in the lap of luxury, he didn’t miss being forced to defend the scum of the universe for it. He tossed the newspaper in the next recycling bin he found, angrily stalking back to his hole in the wall.

The anger and resentment that he let his brothers fill him with kept him hidden away for the rest of the day, not even willing to go to Sandover for a shower and potentially food. Dean probably wouldn’t want to help him anymore, if he knew anything about his past.

That was why Castiel was okay with being homeless. It was ideal, and he didn’t like it by any means. But he’d rather live a quiet nondescript life than be remembered as who he used to be; who Michael and Raphael still were.

The next day it was pouring. The weather reporters predicted torrential downpours until at the very least, nine pm. Dean was five minutes late to work because no one knew how to operate a vehicle in rain. On his way into the office, his umbrella flipped inside out at the last minute, soaking him through his suit jacket and button-down top.

And although that was irritating and forced him to wear a T-shirt with his slacks for the rest of the day, it wasn’t really a big concern. He was worried about Castiel, really. He hated the fact. He was just a homeless dude, his wellbeing shouldn’t play such a large role in Dean’s contentment or happiness or emotions in general.

But it did.

And that was why, in the back of the Impala was a military-fashion backpack (water and fireproof) with a parka inside of it, a reuseable water bottle and a sheaf of coupons he’d stolen from Wendy’s last time he got the irrepressible hankering for french fries.

Castiel hadn’t been to Sandover in a little over a week. Donny had only shrugged when Dean asked, and Victor had given him an awkward side-eye that had him shaking his head and saying, “nevermind” in the way of an explanation.

But now it was storming in earnest and Dean had no way of knowing whether or not Castiel was okay or if he even had any semblance of shelter during this mess. He spent most of his day snapping at Ella and apologizing profusely for it. Bless her heart, she was still in good spirits by the end of the day, taking none of his displaced frustration personally.

Finally, five pm rolled around. Dean jolted up from his desk, clocking his knee on the corner in his haste. Cursing loudly, he ran with a slight limp to the shower hall. Relief filled him when he heard Castiel’s quiet humming that usually accompanied him washing his clothes.

Turning the corner, Dean saw him leaning over the sink, a ratty towel wrapped around his waist, elbow deep in sudsy water in the sink. “Cas!”

Castiel nearly slipped on the damp floor in his haste to turn around. He brought a dripping hand to his chest. “Dean! What the hell are you doing?”

Dean stalked over to him, getting right up into his space. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What’s it to you? You aren’t my keeper, Dean.”

“Yeah, that might be true, but I worry about you, man! I mean, the sky is literally falling, and I have no idea if you’ve caught pneumonia and are laying dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Castiel stopped rinsing his clothes and started at Dean, his head slowly tilting. “I...you worry about me?”

Dean paused. “Uh, yeah, dude. We’re friends.”

Castiel blinked. “We’re friends?”

Dean ground his teeth. “You know what. Grab your shit. You can finish your laundry at my place.”

And really, that left no room for argument, so Castiel wrapped his wet clothes in a plastic bag and stepped into some of the other clothing he had with him that Dean had given him. He was entirely soaked through by the time that they reached the Impala and Dean was grumbling about what the rainwater would do to the leather as he put the key into the ignition.

About halfway there Dean jolted with a memory. “Oh hey, Cas, that backpack back there is for you, buddy.”

Castiel’s mouth tilted downwards in a frown. “Dean, all of this is wholly unnecessary. I’ve been faring for myself for-”

“For how long, Cas? Huh? How long?”

Castiel turned back towards the window where raindrops were streaking down the glass as Dean drove. “Long enough,” he murmured in reply.

The rest of the drive was silent, save for Dean’s drumming fingers over the steering wheel. They arrived at the apartment complex and Dean shot Castiel a manic grin. “Grab your bag, dude.”

They sprinted inside, Dean whooping and hollering with a childlike glee that looked so out of place on a man wearing a suit and sensible shoes. But Castiel smiled, and ran after Dean, jumping and splashing in his own puddles. The woman that they had to share the elevator ride up with gave them the dirtiest look, frowning at the puddles they left on the carpet.

When they entered Dean’s apartment, Castiel remembered that he really shouldn’t be allowing himself to be spoiled like this. “Dean, this is really unnecessary. It’s not that bad out-”

Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow at him and then picked up the remote control. The TV came on to a news station, where a reporter was standing nearby a highway entrance, water very nearly reaching the top of her galoshes. She was yelling to be heard over the rain. Castiel bit the inside of his cheek. “Okay, okay, I get it. May I take a shower?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, duh. Wait, lemme get you something to change into…” he disappeared into his room and then burst back out with an armful of clothes and a towel, just like last time. “Take your time, I’ll get something started for dinner.” He gave Castiel no chance of replying, and he disappeared around the corner. As Castiel closed the bathroom door, he heard cabinets opening and closing, drawers sliding.

When he emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, clothed in soft sweatpants and a worn T-shirt, towelling his hair off lazily. He could smell something savory wafting from the kitchen, and could hear Dean singing off-key to a song playing from the radio.

“I heard the door open, Cas, don’t be a creep!”

Castiel snorted and stepped into the kitchen. Dean had changed clothes, and was wearing pajamas near identical to the ones he’d been lent. “What should I do with my towel, Dean?”

Dean merely shrugged, sticking his finger into the pan on the stovetop and then licking it, humming appreciately. “I don’t really care, dude. Hang it in the bathroom.”

When Castiel came back out, Dean was setting out two deep plates at the table, heaping with egg noodles and a dark sauce, the curves of mushrooms poking out. “It’s just stroganoff,” Dean shrugged, sliding into his chair. “Good for a rainy day.”

Castiel took his seat as well, inhaling deeply the scent of the rich sauce, before stabbing at it and taking a bite. He moaned, slumping in his seat, savoring the taste, the warmth and the texture. Dean really was going to spoil him like this. After the first time he’d stayed with him, going back to beans and PowerBars had been like pure torture. Every time that Dean brought him fresh food was a godsend and he had to fight to tame his excitement, to relax and calmly thank him.

But there was a difference between TupperWare containers and Ziplock bags of food that were acceptable eating cold, and a home cooked meal, right off the stove. Containing his appreciation would have been like trying to put a lid over a volcano. It just wasn’t going to work.

And so, Castiel moaned like a whore on the job while Dean shifted uncomfortably across from him and tried not to inhale his food.

Finally, Castiel’s plate was clear and he let out one last sigh of contentment. “Thank you very much, Dean.”

Dean cleared his throat. “So!” he said loudly. “It’s still early. Wanna watch a movie or something?”

Castiel stared at him. “You don’t...have any more work to do?”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “Dude I worked for nine hours today. Fuck no, I don’t have more work to do. Come on, George Lucas or Tolkien?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed slightly. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. Star Wars? _Lord of the Rings_?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

Dean’s arms flailed. “You-I...I’m ashamed. What did you do as a kid?”

Castiel’s eyes darkened and he turned away. “I had a pretty atypical upbringing,” he muttered, twisting his hands into the fabric of the sweatpants. “We can watch whatever you prefer; it is your home, after all.”

One breath, then two. “Um, right. Star Wars it is. Han Solo is the _shit_. Go make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna start the popcorn.”

As he loaded the bag into the microwave, he couldn’t help but feel like he should have asked what that was about, what it was that made Castiel shut down so immediately. But how long had it been since he’d had a heart to heart, personal conversation with someone who wasn’t Sam?

He couldn’t recall. He wasn’t sure he even remembered how to do that.

Dean sighed, pouring the popcorn into a large bowl. Maybe he’d figure it out eventually. Or, knowing himself, he wouldn’t try at all because taking care of Castiel wasn’t his job, no matter how hard his conscious tried to argue otherwise.

Castiel found it endearing, the way that Dean mouthed the words along with the scrolling text at the start of the movie. He leaned forward in a way that seemed as though he were trying to dive into the movie itself. It was nerdy in a way that he hadn’t expected from the man living in an apartment that costs thousands upon thousands of dollars a month, and who had an income that could still support him for months if lost.

He fell asleep twenty minutes before the end of the movie and Dean quietly pulled himself off of the couch and tucked a blanket around Castiel’s shoulders before heading into the kitchen, gently placing the bowl into the sink.

Caring about Castiel was a weird sensation for Dean. Caring about people came naturally to him; it had throughout his whole life. He cared about the mother of four who needed new brakes but couldn’t afford the shop’s price, so he’d haggled Bobby into letting her pay what she could over time. He’d cared about his mother when she went into the hospital, hooked up to so many machines it made her unrecognizable. He’d cared about Sam, so young and scared, with only a few short years of seeing his mother healthy and able. He’d cared about making his father proud when he stopped working at the auto shop and went for his degree in business.

And now, he cared about this soft-spoken homeless man with a history he refused to acknowledge or speak of. He cared about this man whom he knew nothing about, and that sensation was hard enough to swallow on its own.

Dean woke the next morning to the smell of burning.

He threw himself out of bed without bothering to pull sweatpants over his boxers or at the very least a T-shirt. He slid into the kitchen to see Castiel frantically dumping something into the trashcan, and repeatedly smacking it down with the spatula.

“Cas?” he hazarded, his voice rough with sleep.

Castiel jerked, his blue eyes wide and guilty. “I-I’m sorry,” he winced. “I just-you’ve been so kind. I wanted to-you know? Make you breakfast but, but it’s been so long and I-” he words died away when Dean rested a gentle hand over Castiel’s.

Dean was smiling slightly, his hair sleep rumpled, small wrinkles appearing around his eyes. “Cas, it’s fine. Just freaked me out a little bit.”

Castiel’s shoulders fell inwards and he trained his eyes back to the ground. “I just wanted to give something back. But I haven’t been in a kitchen in a really long time.”

Dean swallowed, unsure of how to approach that one. “Cas, really. It’s all good. Why don’t you go ahead and shower and grab your clothes out of the dryer. I’ll whip us up some omelets.”

“That’s what I was trying to do,” Castiel grumbled, shuffling towards the laundry room.

When Castiel came back out to the kitchen, Dean was whistling happily, and the smell of burning food had been replaced by the bitter scent of coffee and the savory scent of cooking eggs and butter on toast.

He groaned slightly. “Dean, you’re really doing too much.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean replied, his voice light. “And eat. It seems like the weather decided to clear up last night, so you just let me know where to drop you before I go to work.”

Castiel rightfully looked cowed and took a bite of his breakfast. He was gradually getting more and more accustomed to the rich flavors of Dean’s cooking. More accustomed, and craving them more as well. Staying away for so long had actually been really helpful; he couldn’t let himself get too spoiled. All good things had to come to an end.

* * *

 


	2. Hospital Blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the thin fabric of Castiel’s uniform, Dean could feel the rattle of his lungs with every breath he took. “Sorry dude, but that does not sound like allergies to me, and there is no way in hell you’re going back to sleep.” Panic began to creep through his chest. This was more than allergies; Castiel was really sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter

Spring was slowly draining into summer, the rain suddenly ceasing and color blooming everywhere in what felt like a blink of an eye. The air smelled muddy and sweet as the cooler temperatures gave way to more warmth.

With the change in temperature came the onslaught of allergies that Castiel had suffered from year after year since he was fourteen years old. He used to come home from school and be greeted by his mother with a cup of honey tea, a multivitamin and whichever allergy medication they were trying that year. They bought Benadryl as often as they could, since it was the only way to get Castiel to fall asleep without sneezing up a lung and keep him asleep long enough for him to function the next day.

He couldn’t believe how much he’d taken that for granted.

It was almost May now, and Castiel had been saving up every penny that he could to buy a bottle of Benadryl. He’d skipped more meals than he cared to acknowledge, making his sleep more fitful, his bones ached more often. But he could put up with the weariness for a small handful of weeks.

He couldn’t put up with the near asthma attacks that would come with the May flowers that were almost upon him.

Finally, on the last day of April he’d recycled enough and found enough change to purchase a bottle of the medication, covered the tax and all. He nearly ran to the CVS down the street from his hole-in-the-wall, pockets jangling loudly in his haste.

The cool air inside the building was a refreshing respite from the growing humidity outside. He tried to slow his steps towards the medicine aisle, as not to raise any questions. It’d been a few days since he’d last been to Sandover, and even longer since he’d been able to shave. He knew he’d look suspicious just entering the store.

The cashier gave him an odd look when he set down the bottle of Benadryl and then pulled a wad of dollar bills and a handful of change from his pockets. He gave them an apologetic look as he began counting out the last of the cost.

“Ten fifty-two,” the cashier informed him.

Castiel glanced up, bewildered. “I thought…? The price said fourteen dollars.”

The kid shrugged. “I’ve got four bucks I don’t need. Is that all of it?” he asked, pointing to the pile of bills and change.

Castiel swallowed, nodding. He was handed his receipt and the bottle of Benadryl, and bid a good day. He walked slowly from the store, unsure whether to feel confusion or gratitude at the teenager who’d just left him with extra money he hadn’t planned on having.

His dilemma was cut short though, when two police officers stopped him right outside the building.

One of the officers smirked, looking Castiel up and down. “CVS is a little classy for you, don’t you think?”

Castiel resisted the urge to sneer in the man’s face and tell him that he once owned a suit that cost more than the man’s home probably did. He took a deep breath, feeling his lungs rattle at the effort. “I’m unsure of what you mean by that, officer.”

Well,” the man shrugged, looking Castiel in the eye. “Can you really afford anything here?”

The question was rude and invasive, and it made Castiel’s blood boil, red tinting the edges of his vision. He slowly moved his hand to his pocket, pulling out the bottle of Benadryl and the folded receipt. “Does this answer your question?”

The officer rolled the bottle in his hands and scanned the receipt before handing them back to Castiel, a poorly concealed grimace on his face. “Have a lovely day, sir. Stay safe.”

Castiel turned and walked stiffly away from the officers, trying to keep his pace respectful and not suspicious. It wasn’t the first time he’d been stopped by police officers. Mere weeks after being estranged from his family, he’d been kicked awake by a trigger-happy cop, demanding he move himself from the park bench or face a day and night in jail. He’d scrambled up quickly, apologizing profusely and then taken off at an outright sprint.

Now, when he got harassed by a police officer, he rolled his eyes and slouched away, keeping his mouth shut and hands out of his pockets.

Really, he was just glad that they didn’t take the Benadryl. He was already beginning to feel stuffy, his head throbbing slightly just behind his eyes. The symptoms would always progress to a point of non functioning until mid-July, and then he’d wake up clear-nosed, not sore and breathing well.

His first year being homeless and nameless, he hadn’t been able to get any kind of allergy medication. He spent as many nights as possible hopping between shelters, hoping for at least a hot shower and clean humidity to clear his system, if not for a half an hour. A few volunteers took pity on him from time to time, slipping him Mucinex and Zyrtec with his meals but it was never a permanent solution.

So far, he’d done his best not to tip off Victor or Donny of his yearly battle with his immune system.

All of that went to hell in a handbasket on Wednesday. He’d spent the past three days in his hole-in-the-wall, eating peanuts and PowerBars, breathing through his mouth and wheezing. He’d caved mid-afternoon, his skin too itchy to ignore, and walked the couple of miles to Sandover, clutching the backpack Dean had given him tightly.

Victor was the first to see him. He walked excitedly over to Castiel, his arms waving. “Cas! Castiel, man, I’ve got some good news!”

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. He smiled hesitantly and cleared his throat, trying to relieve the tickle of another cough. “What is it?” he asked, his voice rough.

“There’s an opening in the janitorial staff! Donny had to fire one of the guys because he caught him smoking up in the basement,” Victor pantomimed holding a joint between his middle and forefinger. “So whaddaya say? Wanna fill out an application tonight?”

Castiel’s heart sunk. He coughed. “I...I want to. I just. I don’t have an address. And well...nor a last name, really. I don’t even have anywhere to store the money once I begin getting checks, and it just doesn’t seem like it’d be a good fit.”

Victor threw an arm over Castiel’s shoulders. “Nonsense! Donny and I will help you tonight, okay? You wanna hang out in the break room until you can take your shower?”

Castiel sighed, and then grimaced at the rattle in his lungs. “Yes, I would appreciate that,” he grit out.

Victor nodded his assent and led Castiel to the janitorial break room, in the basement of the building. Castiel continued to take large gulps of water, trying to stave off his body’s need to cough and hack. It was too early in the day to take a Benadryl, even more so if he was to fill out a job application and shower standing up.

In the break room, there was a small cot in the corner. The moment that Victor disappeared back up the stairs, Castiel collapsed gratefully into it, his chest heaving with the effort not to cough.

He was woken up some hours later by a concerned hand on his shoulder. Donny’s face swam into focus. “You alright, buddy?” he asked gently.

Castiel sniffed, and then snorted, coughing. “I’m okay. My apologies, I must not have been sleeping as well as I thought lately.”

Donny smiled gently, the motion brightening his round face. “Don’t worry about it bud. I’m glad you got some hours of rest. Now how’s about filling out that application?”

Castiel ran a hand under his nose. “Donny...I’m not sure what Victor told you but...I don’t have an address. Or a bank account. Or even a last name that I’m comfortable using! This is going to be a dead end.”

Donny shook his head, still smiling. “Have some faith, my friend. I already started the application for you. Castiel Whettington. And what do you know? Your address is the same as mine!” He gave a small chuckle, looking hopefully at Castiel. “Just...fill out what you’re comfortable with. I’m the head of janitorial staff, background checks aren’t necessary for this position. I don’t need your whole life story, buddy. I just need to know that you can do your hours.”

Castiel swallowed thickly. “How many hours a week?”

“We’ll start you with twelve. Ricky had about thirty, but me ‘n the other guys can pick up his slack while we see if you’re a good fit.”

Castiel nodded slowly and carefully filled in his social security number, his birthday, his few noteworthy skills, and education background. When he was through, he hesitantly handed the page back to Donny.

Glee filled the man’s eyes, an unadulterated joy at being able to help another person. “How do you feel about starting next Monday? We’ll get you on the payroll, get a suit to fit you. You’ll be a workin’ man in no time, my friend!”

Castiel gave him a wobbly smile and nodded slightly. His eyes were itchy, watery again. “Thank you for your hospitality and thoughtfulness Donny. I’m going to go ahead to the showers now, if that’s alright.”

Donny took a step away, nodding. “Of course! Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need anything?”

Castiel smiled warmly. Donny was always so kind, so willing to reach out and help. “I am alright. Just allergies.”

The next four days felt like hell. A stuffy-nosed, achy chested, _hell_. Any extra money he managed to gather was spent on orange juice. He wished that he had the means to afford Vicks, or even Echinacea, but neither of those would provide calories as well as immune system support.

So, orange juice it was.

* * *

 

Dean Smith was having a weird week. His Monday started with him walking into the door of his office because he could have _sworn_ he’d seen Castiel donning the same suit that every other janitorial staff wore. When he backed up trying to see around the corner again, he backed right into Ella, nearly dumping her tea all over herself. It was Monday; he chalked it up to that.

And then Tuesday, as he parked his car, he thought he caught a glimpse of Castiel hauling a garbage bag around the corner to the dumpsters. It took every bone in his body to not follow him, and to just walk into his office and not feel like he’d seen a ghost.

Wednesday, he was itching. Is this what Donny felt like when he went too long without helping somebody? Dean wasn’t sure how he’d felt about it. He hadn’t seen Castiel in nearly two weeks, he wasn’t sure if he was okay or in trouble.

The fact that he was even worried troubled him. He’d spent his whole life worrying about Sam, worrying about mom, worrying about dad; or at least, making dad happy. That’s what this job was meant for. It was security. He could settle down with this job, take care of Sam if he needed and still have enough to afford hobbies.

That is, if he ever had time for hobbies again. While the job gave him wealth, it took away any semblance of free time that he might have had.

He thought he’d been free of worry until retirement. And then Castiel had somehow driven that plan straight into a wall.

When it came down to it, Dean finally believed that he was merely hallucinating Castiel around his building, due to his worry getting the better of him. He was spending too many late nights in the office, trying to keep up with the workload that Adler was dumping on him. He’d had to cancel a weekend with Sam just to catch up on sleep and because he was too drained to go to the grocery store to buy enough food to feed himself and his moose of a younger brother.

It was a Thursday night that everything came to a head, that was something Dean would never forget. He was trying to scoop honey into his tea when his computer pinged at him, signifying a completed download. The sound jolted him, knocking the jar of honey to the floor, cracking on impact with the floor, spilling it.

Dean cussed and leapt back, the spoon also clattering to the floor. He sighed, frustration boiling low in his belly. It was nearly eight at night, he still had to go over his draft of projected funds and now there was honey and glass on the floor.

Donny still hadn’t come to the office to let Dean know that he was leaving for the evening, so maybe he’d be down in the janitorial office? Dean could only hope.

The trek through the building and down five flights of stairs was eerie at best. Usually when Dean was going downstairs, it was to go out to the parking lot to go home. He’d only ever been to the basement a small handful of times since he’d been working at Sandover.

Dean hesitantly flicked the light switch on as he made his way down the basement stairs. “Donny?” he called out. “You still here, man?”

There was a muffled thump as Dean reached the bottom of the stairs and he whirled to find Castiel sitting up from the cot in the corner, dark hair tangled from sleep, the janitorial uniform he was wearing, rumpled. “Cas?” he asked incredulously.

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but his reply dissolved into a fit of wheezing, hacking coughs. Dean lurched towards him, pulling Castiel into an upright position, rubbing circles over his back. “Whoa, man, breathe. Are you okay? Since when have you worked here?!”

When Castiel was finally able to respond, his voice was croaky and rough. “For about three weeks now. And no, I am not okay. I suffer from severe allergies, and it’d be nice if you’d let me go back to sleep.”

Through the thin fabric of Castiel’s uniform, Dean could feel the rattle of his lungs with every breath he took. “Sorry dude, but that does not sound like allergies to me, and there is no way in hell you’re going back to sleep.” Panic began to creep through his chest. This was more than allergies; Castiel was really sick. He could recall only one other time that he’d felt that same rattle through someone’s shirt. It was the summer of his eighth grade, and Sam had gotten pneumonia from a sinus infection gone wrong. Fluid was slowly filling his lungs as his immune system struggled to maintain itself.

Dean took a deep breath, steeling his shaking hands as he pulled away from Castiel. “I, uh. There’s a mess in my office. I’ll be right back. Don’t fucking move.”

Castiel grumbled incoherently, waving a reluctant hand at Dean.

Dean tried to clean up the mess on his floor to the best of his ability with shaking hands and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He cursed himself furiously as he scrubbed at the floor. All of this began with a broken jar of _honey_ , dammit.

He had to practically carry Castiel to the Impala, and it was only then that he noticed the fine sheen of sweat over Castiel’s brow and neck. _Of fucking course. The fever,_ Dean realized. As he peeled out of the parking lot, he sent a prayer to a God he’d stopped believing in years ago.

_Don’t let me get pulled over._

* * *

 

Dean walked up to the nurses station for the fourth time that night. “We’ve been here for over an hour,” he growled, clenching his fists. “And you guys still don’t have anything new to tell me?”

The nurse gave him a pitying shrug. “Mr. Smith, the blood tests are being run, and they can’t be rushed. Since...your friend refuses to give any background information, we need to be positive that it is pneumonia, lest we give him an antibiotic that isn’t right for him.”

Dean rolled his eyes heavenwards. “Ma’am, he’s told you three times that the only thing he’s allergic to is shellfish and like, I dunno, every single molecule of the air during spring? What more do you need?”

“Sir, if you can’t be patient and calm with your friend in his room, then someone will have to escort you to sit in the waiting room until our doctors come back with a prognosis.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek and whirled angrily, stalking back to Castiel’s room. Hospitals never failed to give him the willies. He’d spent much of his childhood in one, watching his mother wither away to nothing, watching the spark of happiness in his father’s eyes slowly die with her. The smell of constant antiseptic and the stale hint of recycled air only further worsened his anxiety, strengthened his fear that he’d gotten to Castiel too late.

Another hour passed before Castiel stirred in his bed. His eyes felt crusty and useless, his body weak and too warm for comfort. What was poking him?...oh. That was a needle in his arm. An IV? How did he get to the hospital? Why was he in the hospital?

He coughed, causing a sharp spike of pain to travel through his chest. The hardy cough ended in a weak wheeze as he struggled to catch the breath he’d lost coughing. In the corner of the room, someone jolted from their seat, and Dean’s worried face swam into focus.

“Cas, hey man, calm down,” Dean’s voice sounded far away, muffled. “Lemme sit you up, hold on…” Suddenly, the bed Castiel was laying slowly began to tilt his upper body further upright. Breathing gradually became easier. “There you go,” Dean soothed. “How about some water? You thirsty?”

Castiel hoped the movement he’d just made was a nod. A straw was pressed to his mouth and he sucked greedily until it was yanked away. “Yeah, no, you shouldn’t chug that. That’s not a good idea.”

Castiel tried to protest, but all he was able to do was hack up a large glob of phlegm. Dean winced and held out a small tray. “The nurses said that might happen. Don’t swallow it.” He grimaced, but reluctantly spat into the tray, nearly vomiting at the slight tang of blood.

Dean coughed into his elbow, moving the tray out of sight. “So I’m pretty sure you have pneumonia, I’ve seen all this before. But the doctors are determined to run a million and one blood tests since you refuse to give your last name, so they can’t pull any medical history on you.”

Castiel sighed, turning away. The risk of revealing who he truly was wasn’t worth the benefits. He could wait a little while longer to get antibiotics.

“You said you’ve seen this before?” he grated out, raising his head to look up. Dean quirked an eyebrow, sucking on his lower lip. Castiel sighed and leaned back. “Just...please talk to me, about anything. It’s easier to listen than focus on not being able to breathe.”

Dean’s face melted into one of concern as he tried to adjust the pillows for Castiel before falling back into his own seat. “Yeah, yeah I’ve seen this before. My, uh...my baby brother had pneumonia when he was ten. Scared the piss outta me. My dad had to work the entire time he was hospitalized, so I ended up skipping school for three days just so Sammy didn’t have to be alone.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he recalled curling up next to Sam in the narrow hospital bed and brushing his little brother’s long hair from his eyes so that he could see the cartoons without shifting. Every time the nurses deemed visiting hours over and booted Dean from the room, he snuck back in less than an hour later.

“You’re very kind,” Castiel murmured, his eyes falling shut.

Dean turned away, blushing furiously at the compliment.

The next time that Castiel drifted back into consciousness, it was to the sound of a muffled discussion.

“Mr. Smith, you do realise that since we have no insurance records for Castiel, this will be going on yours?”

“I literally do not give a shit. You fix him. Do whatever it takes.”

“Do you know if he’s had a history of pneumonia?”

Dean snorted. “No! I barely know the guy. All he’s told me is that he has ‘severe allergies’, whatever that means.”

The doctor hmm’ed thoughtfully. “It is possible that in his weakened immune state, his allergic reactions just progressed naturally into pneumonia.”

“Dude,” Dean cried, and then lowered his voice again. “I don’t care how he got it! Fix him!”

When the doctor replied, his voice was strained. “We can discharge him tomorrow morning with some heavy antibiotics. He needs to stay tonight for the intravenous antibiotics and fluids. Does he have family he can stay with? He must stay on bedrest, no excess movement, he cannot lay flat. He could drown himself.”

“He’ll be staying with me.”

“Then it’s settled. He’ll receive his discharge papers in the morning.”

* * *

 

Dean refused to let Castiel sleep on the couch. He had tried to argue at first, but all of his words dissolved into yet another coughing fit, and Dean just shook his head, propping all of the pillows that he could find up at the head of the bed. He handed Castiel soft pajamas and ushered him into the bathroom, praying that he wouldn’t require help. When he emerged five minutes later, Dean let out a breath that he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

He tucked Castiel into the bed, handing him a water bottle, an iPod, and a stack of books. “I’ll be right back. I need to get some groceries and other stuff. Do. Not. Move.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, huffing. “I’ll be right here, don’t worry.”

“Damn straight,” Dean nodded decisively. “I’ll be back.”

On his way to the grocery store, Dean reluctantly pulled out his phone to call work and then Sam. He was able to explain to Donny that Castiel wouldn’t be working for a while, and then had to explain to Adler that he was using his sick days. Adler, of course, pitched a fit, but there was nothing he could legally do in retaliation.

And then to get ahold of Sam...there was no way he’d be able to come visit this weekend, not with Castiel holed up in Dean’s room, and the guest room still just a barely functioning office.

Rightfully so, Sam was a little bit miffed. “Dude, what the hell? You blew me off last time we were supposed to hang too!”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I know but...this is different, man. I just can’t.”

Sam huffed. “Yeah, why’s that?”

Dean bit his tongue, picking up a basket and stalking into the grocery store. “It’s...complicated.”

He could practically hear Sam throwing his arms in the air over the line. “Then uncomplicate it, Dean! You’re my brother!”

Dean sighed and picked up a bottle of probiotics. In the hours that he spent waiting for Castiel to get discharged, he’d read about the damage on your body that a round of antibiotics could do. “Um. I’m kind of...I’m taking care of someone right now. It’d be a tight squeeze.”

Sam paused, momentarily caught off guard. “Dean. Tell me what’s going on.”

He threw the bottle of probiotics into the basket, and then grabbed another just for good measure. “A, uh...a friend of mine has pneumonia. He doesn’t really have anywhere to go, so he’s staying with me til he can get back on his feet. I’m letting him stay in my room; I’ve got the pullout couch.” What the heck else should he get for someone with pneumonia?!

Sam drew in a deep breath. “Uh, okay then. That’s...nice of you. Isn’t your apartment two bedrooms, though? And when the hell did you get a friend that you forgot to tell me about?”

Dean coughed into his fist and scratched his neck. Bananas; does Cas like bananas? “Well, yeah. But right now it’s just a sad excuse for an office, really. It’d take some maneuvering to even fit the air mattress in there. And, um...complicated.”

There was a sigh over the phone and Dean could practically see Sam run his hand through his thick hair. “Alright Dean. Just keep me posted, please,” he paused, as if second-guessing himself. “And...make him tomato and rice soup. You, ah-”

Dean huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, I remember. Your favorite sick soup.” Their mother had made it for Dean whenever he got sick as well, before she fell ill herself. When she was in the hospital, Dean made it his mission to learn how to make it exactly as she did and spent much of her last days in her hospital room, eating tomato and rice soup, and wishing he could feed her some.

So Dean ended up getting the ingredients for the soup, some saltine crackers and a box of blueberry muffins, for comfort.

When he came back home, he poked his head into the bedroom to find Castiel sound asleep, his chin resting on his chest, a book halfheartedly propped between his legs. If Dean held his breath, he could hear Castiel’s breathy wheezes with each inhale. He winced slightly, wishing there was more that he could do.

He tiptoed back into the kitchen and set to making the soup. He texted Sam only twice, asking if garlic bread would be good for Castiel, or potentially harmful. _Just leave the butter off of it. Use oil. Garlic has antibiotic qualities to it._ Dean rolled his eyes. _Thanks poindexter_.

Cooking had always had a relaxing, ritualistic quality to it for Dean.  He assumed that it had to do with having done all the cooking after their mother was hospitalized, but he liked to believe it was because of the control he got, standing over the stovetop or counters. Everything was broken down into exact measurements, a dash here, a splash there and it all mixed together to create an enticingly delicious meal. He still wasn’t sure if his favorite part about cooking for others was being able to provide for them, or hearing the praise that people would undoubtedly spew after only a few bites.

Dean was just pulling the garlic bread from the oven when Castiel shuffled into the kitchen, book tucked under his arm, iPod cradled gently in his palm. He sighed slightly, sagging against the wall. “That smells heavenly, Dean,” he murmured.

Dean jolted, nearly throwing the entire tray of garlic bread to the floor in his panic. “Dammit, Cas!” he exclaimed. “Wear a bell or something. Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Castiel sucked in a rattly sounding breath. “My apologies.”

Dean frowned. “Also, you shouldn’t be out of bed. Sit, sit,” he ushered Castiel to the table, sliding the chair out. He made him a cup of tea with honey and set it down, placing two tablets of the probiotics next to it. “Drink this. Take these.” His voice left no room for argument and Castiel managed to swallow the pills as Dean set a bowl of soup in front of him, with a small plate of garlic bread next to it.

He inhaled the scent wafting up from the dish. “What is this?” he asked, picking up the spoon.

Dean sat down across from him, stirring his own soup. “It’s uh, tomato and rice soup. My mom made it for me growing up, and then...and then I made it for Sammy, too.”

Castiel took a bite and then sighed around his spoon, the flavor overwhelming his tastebuds. Since he’d been sick, his sense of taste had been dulled, but nothing about this dish was dull. “You took very good care of your brother, didn’t you?” he asked, scooping another spoonful up.

Dean set his spoon down carefully and took a sip of his water. “Uh, yeah. I already told you my dad worked a lot. My mom passed away when I was ten, so...yeah. It was up to me to, you know.”

Castiel winced. He hadn’t meant to bring up such a sensitive subject. “I’m sure that...Sammy loves you and appreciates you doing so much to provide for him.”

Dean snorted, taking a large bite of garlic bread and then said around the mouthful, “oh man if he knew I got a complete stranger calling him that…” he laughed. “What about you? Any annoying siblings?”

Castiel’s face darkened instantly and he dropped his gaze to his soup. “Yes...I have three older brothers. And a younger sister.”

Dean couldn’t help the cough that escaped him at that. “Jesus, five of you? How’d that fare?”

Castiel stared at the table thoughtfully. “It was...complex. Difficult. We were all very different from one another.”

“Ah, so I guess you guys weren’t all that close growing up, then?”

“You could say that,” he responded quietly, taking another bite.

The conversation from there dwindled, as Dean could tell he’d made Castiel uncomfortable. He did the dishes once they finished and then took Castiel’s temperature, and forced him back into bed. “You’re not even supposed to be up and about,” he reminded him. Castiel had to bite back a sneer, wanting to explain that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But as he inhaled, his lungs locked up, his throat closed and he was wheezing and coughing, his head spinning from the effort it took to suck in a single breath of air between hacks.

Dean rubbed a soothing hand over his back and gently led him to the bed, helping him lay down and get situated under the blankets. “You really don’t have to do all of this, Dean,” he insisted again.

Dean only hushed him. “Too bad. I’m doing it anyways. Get some more rest. Holler,” Dean coughed. “Um. Throw something if you need me.”

Castiel only snorted, and then wheezed, flopping back onto the pillows in acquiescence.

The weekend dragged by in between dosing up Castiel, checking Castiel’s temperature, cooking, cleaning, and sleeping in between it all. It had been ages since he hadn’t been able to sleep on his tempurpedic mattress and the pull out couch wasn’t kind to his back or his hips. That was good and well, though, because every time he woke himself up, he got up to check on Castiel. Sometimes that involved placing a cool, damp cloth over his head and neck, or administering more antibiotics, so maybe it was a good thing that he wasn’t sleeping.

Castiel, of course, protested every chance that he got, telling Dean that he was doing too much, and that he’d never be able to pay him back. Dean would always hush him with a question of what kind of tea he’d prefer.

When Monday came around, Dean was running around his apartment, mildly disoriented and in full panic. His typical routine had been entirely thrown off. He couldn’t find his tie clip or his favorite travel mug. He’d forgotten to add banana to his smoothie which had never happened to him and he’d accidentally spilled orange juice on his bed in his haste to get it to Castiel. Not to mention, he was more than a little bit worried about leaving Castiel home by himself.

Finally he threw his personal cell phone at Castiel and said, “my work number is programmed into it, extension twelve. There’s an alarm set on there to remind you to take your antibiotics. There’s soup in the fridge and fruit on the table. There’s ibuprofen on the side table right there; no more than two every four hours. Don’t you dare have any dairy, do you understand me?”

Through all of this, Castiel laid on the bed, staring up at Dean blearily. He blinked and asked, “Dean, has anyone ever suggested the possibility that you may have a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Don’t die while I’m at work.” As he turned, he tripped over a shirt, effectively ruining his dramatic stalking. Castiel’s wheezing laughter followed him from the apartment.

When it came down to it, Dean considered himself naturally paranoid for those he took under his wing. When Sam jumped off the roof of the house when they were kids and broke his arm, Dean hovered over him for the first two weeks that he had his cast. When the kids at Sam’s school found out that their mother had ovarian cancer, they teased Sam endlessly, because apparently “ovaries” equated with being a whore or something.

While their father worked himself into a stupor trying to pay her hospital bills, Dean skipped school one day to go with Sam and speak with the teacher about bullying and teaching her classroom about the technicalities of cancer. He also had a short discussion with the kids that were picking on Sam specifically. And if that discussion involved more threats than anything else, who was to know?

So it didn’t necessarily surprise Dean that he kept his work line free as possible throughout the day and called Castiel at least three times to make sure he was alive. Castiel called only once, half asleep, to make sure that Dean had spoken with Donny about his sick leave and hung up when Dean asked for the fourth time if he had eaten and taken his antibiotics.

Of course Adler shit a brick about Dean taking Friday off and leaving early today as well. Dean had to explain twice that there was a family emergency and that he was taking care of someone who was incredibly ill before Adler immediately backpedaled. He scrapped his entire argument and demanded Dean not bring anything contagious to the office. Dean gave him a sarcastic salute and got back to the spreadsheet he was building.

Like always, Ella was sweet and supportive, bringing Dean a cup of tea he hadn’t asked for with his lunch. “There’s honey and ginger in there, to keep your strength up. My fiance was sick last month, and almost gave it to me as well. Take care of yourself, Mr. Smith.”

Dean could only give her a grateful smile and a murmured thank you. Her sweet demeanor was always a much welcome contrast to Adler’s harsh biting words and attitude. She’d been his secretary for the better part of four years now and knew his attitudes inside and out. She knew to bring him a cup of tea after every visit with Adler. She knew to throw in a cupcake with his lunch order if he didn’t come in with his travel mug of coffee. Dean had never asked her for any of this; the woman was just scary perceptive.

For the most part, having Castiel in his apartment was going well. On Tuesday, Dean somewhat had found his routine again. He got up a bit earlier in order to fit in his breakfast and setting things out for Castiel. He didn’t trip on his way out of the room and he remembered his travel mug of coffee for the office.

Wednesday went even better than Tuesday.

And then Thursday happened, again.

The morning went just fine, even better than the rest of the week. Dean actually felt at ease as he left for work, having slept better the night before and had a good breakfast that Castiel had been able to eat with him at the table. Ella greeted him at the office with her sweet as sugar smile and the news that he only had a couple of things to do that day, a sneaked in request to leave early.

Castiel was feeling pretty good as well. His constant fever of 101 had finally eased down to a simmering 99 degrees, every breath didn’t feel as though he was swimming through fluid to reach it.

Eating breakfast with Dean did exhaust him though, and he found himself trudging back to bed, pulling the blankets dejectedly over himself.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for; rather drifted--but he woke up to the front door opening and closing rather loudly. He struggled awake, trying to get his muscles to cooperate and do what he wanted them too. Dean was always so light-footed, only waking Castiel up with a gentle nudge to his shoulder and a murmur of his name.

He shuffled out down the hallway, curiosity growing, despite his ever present exhaustion. “Dean?” he called, his voice cracking.

From around the corner, a slight redhead came skidding into the hall. “Who the hell are you?” she cried.

“Who are _you_?” Castiel tried to ask. Instead, it came out more like a hack and a cough in question format.

He whirled and ran back to Dean’s room, slamming the door, locking it, before scrambling desperately for Dean’s cell phone. He was wheezing by the time that Dean answered with a curt “Smith and Adler, Dean speaking.”

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice came out in a strained whisper. It felt as though his lungs were rebelling, like they were trying to leave his body through his armpits or something.

“Cas?” Dean immediately lost his cool demeanor, panic taking its place. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

Castiel coughed, and then struggled to inhale again. "Dean there's a woman in your apartment. She has bright red hair and she's scary and, and" he let out another shuddering breath.

Dean nearly stopped breathing before he realized, "oh my god, Cas, that's just Charlie! She's my-Cas? Hello? _Fuck_."

Castiel laid against the door, struggling to breath, unaware that he’d hit the end button on the sensitive touch screen.. He could feels his lungs rattling in his chest, struggling to provide oxygen beyond the fluid flooding his system.

"Hey, hey! Are you alright in there? Are you dying? Let me in!"

"I-I have pneumonia!" Castiel finally groaned.

"Then open the fucking door!" she cried. "Let me help you!"

Castiel reached up to grab the door handle and yank it open. The woman nearly tumbled on top of him but caught herself at the last minute. "Did they give you an inhaler?"

He shook his head. His chest felt tight, and it was bordering on painful now. She cursed under her breath, a stream of insults towards the hospital staff. “Alright, big boy, let’s get into the bathroom, c’mon.”

She dragged Castiel’s lax body into the bathroom and propped him up by the tub as she cranked the shower and the sink as hot as they’d go. She yanked Dean’s robe off the hook of the door and jammed it in the space between the door and the floor.

She began to undress Castiel and in his confusion, he panicked, flailing. Was she planning to drown him? “Hey, hey, chill,” he soothed him quietly as she pulled his shirt over his head. “I’m Charlie. Dean and I have been friends for a really long time. We’re gonna do a humidity bath, alright? It’s gonna loosen up the gunk in your chest so you can breathe, does that sounds okay?”

Castiel could only nod. When he tried to speak, his words came out in a breathy rasp, and Charlie only shushed him. As she reached for his sweatpants, he tried to stop her, embarrassment burning bright in his cheeks, but she merely swatted them away and tugged them off his hips.

She leveled an indifferent glare at him. “Seriously, chill. I don’t even bat for your team; I couldn’t give a shit less about your equipment.” And no matter how honest she sounded, he still squirmed away, trying to obscure his penis from her line of vision.

She merely rolled her eyes and stuck a hand in the shower to test the temperature of the water. “Alright, kiddo,” she grinned at him. “In there you go. Try to keep your face out of the direct stream of water and you should be fine.”

Castiel folded himself over the side of the tub, propping his head on his arms, the cool of the tub soothing to his skin compared to the rising humidity of the bathroom. Charlie pulled her hair back and snapped it into a tie, crossing her legs to look at Castiel.

“So,” she smiled at him. “How do you know Dean?”

Castiel took a deep, watery breath. “We met at work. I...I don’t have a place to stay for the time being, so he agreed to let me stay with him until I’m back at full health.”

Charlie cocked her head to the side. “Damn. That at odds with family that a coworker had to take you in?”

Hmm. Now there was an odd thought. He and Dean were indeed coworkers now, weren’t they? Maybe not the same department, but certainly under the same company. “You have no idea,” he finally replied.

Charlie hummed under her breath. “Interesting.” With no further comment, she leaned forward and proceeded to dig through Dean’s cabinet until she reappeared with a triumphant “Ah-hah!” holding a blue container in hand. “You’re gonna have a love hate relationship with this stuff, I’m just gonna warn you now.

It was Vicks. And Charlie was right. They got him out of the bathtub and into a clean pair of sweats before rubbing the greasy ointment over his back, chest, and throat, placing warm towels over him. The ointment burned on his skin, but he could feel it through his lungs and throat, easing his breath. She forced him down on the couch as she rooted through the kitchen, coming back with a large mug of steaming tea.

“So has he made you watch Star Wars yet?”

Castiel bit his lip, cradling the mug of tea between his palms. “I...yes? We finished the first movie.”

Charlie snorted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well then, we’d better get you started on the next one, huh?”

As she was fiddling with the DVD player, the door crashed open and Dean’s frenzy yelp of, “Cas?!” echoed through the apartment.

“In here,” both he and Charlie replied in unison, although Castiel’s voice was a bit more grating.

Dean jogged to the living room to find Castiel wrapped in towels, his hair fluffy and frizzy, and Charlie bent over the DVD player, eyes like a deer in headlights. He couldn’t figure out if he wanted to be pissed or grateful. His heart was still racing with panic and his thoughts were still somewhat disoriented.

“Y-you couldn’t have at least called me?” he finally squawked.

“Oops,” Charlie whispered, her lips popping on the ‘p’.

Dean threw his hands in the air. He glanced between the two of them for a moment. “The hell even happened?”

Charlie shrugged. “I scared the oxygen out of his system. Had to take a humidity bath.”

“And then a Vicks bath,” Castiel added dryly.

“And then he’ll need another bath to get all the Vicks off of him!” Charlie continued, grinning.

Dean rolled his eyes. “At least he’ll be clean,” he muttered. He turned to Castiel, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You! Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again, you hear?” Castiel only nodded, wide-eyed. Embarrassment as his reaction hit Dean full forced and he stammered out, “I’m...I’m gonna go get changed.”

Charlie popped the DVD into the player and then stood. “I’ll be back.” She smiled reassuringly at Castiel as she walked away, but Castiel only felt slightly unsettled and mostly confused.

In his room, Dean sat on the bed, his head cradled tightly in his hands. His pulse was still racing, whether it was from residual panic or anger now, he couldn’t tell. All he knew for sure was that he was scared for Castiel’s life the moment the phone call ended. He’d scared the shit out of Ella when he left, apologizing profusely and running out of the office, his suit jacket billowing over his shoulder in his haste.

Rationally, he knew he could have called Charlie and explained to her, but there were still too many open-ended “what-if’s” that could have occurred, so he’d raced home as quickly as he could. With that panic, he realized that Castiel-this strange homeless man, with a past he refused to broach-had wormed his way comfortably into Dean’s life. He wished that he knew what that meant.

A gentle tap at his door jolted his from his reverie. Charlie stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her slim frame. “The hell was that all about?” she asked quietly.

Count on Charlie to get uncomfortably right to the point.

Dean only shrugged.

Charlie, ever persistent in ensuring her friend was okay, only asked again, “seriously, Dean. What was that?”

“I...I was worried about him?”

Charlie scoffed. “Worried? Dean, when Sam gets sick you laugh at him and cook for him for a week. When I get sick you laugh at me and send me internet memes while you’re on the clock. That, back there? That wasn’t worry for a friend or a brother.”

Dean’s silence only solidified her argument. “You like him, don’t you?” she concluded.

Dean stood up, throwing his hands in the air as he stalked to his closet. “Charlie, I barely know the guy!”

She raised a defiant eyebrow. “And that’s why he’s recovering from pneumonia with you? Because you barely know him?”

Dean’s shirt was halfway over his head when she said this, and he proceeded to lob it at her head for the remark. “Okay, fine! I do like him! But...the fact still stands that I know next to nothing about him.”

Charlie smirked. “Well, you’d better find a way to fix that, hoss.” With that, she whirled and left the room. Dean eventually joined her and Castiel in Star Wars. Castiel sat in between them, huddled in his towels under a mound of blankets. By the time the end credits were scrolling, he was tilted slightly to the left, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder, sound asleep. He was snoring just slightly, wheezy breaths and tiny coughs escaping every few minutes.

“Charlie!” Dean whispered urgently at her as she stood up to eject the DVD. “How do I move without waking him up!”

She snorted. “Figure it out! I’m going home, I was only here because I remembered I left my hoodie in your laundry room eons ago. Good luck!”

“Charlie!” he hissed. “Charlie, don’t-” the sound of the door clicking shut cut him off. He sighed dejectedly, tilting his head until Castiel’s sleeping face was just in his peripheral sight.

Dean sighed again, slumping into the couch. The apartment was quiet, save for Castiel’s breathing and the hum of the refrigerator in the other room.

Dean hadn’t experienced such explicit care for another person since Lisa, and even that had been conditional. They had dated for two years during college, being each other’s study-fuck-buddies. They broke up and when Lisa reappeared in his life years later with a seven year old son, things got a little tangled. No matter how much she insisted that Ben wasn’t Dean’s, he stuck around for another two years before they determined that it just wouldn’t work out between the two of them.

Dean of course still attended Ben’s soccer games on occasion and babysat for Lisa when she was in a pinch. Even so, he couldn’t get the niggling ache out of his chest that they could have been something great. It had all but broke his heart when she came out and said that they weren’t working.

What if he and Castiel didn’t work?

With that thought he resolved to not tell Castiel about he budding feelings and instead nudged himself out from underneath Castiel’s shoulder, and hastily slid a pillow in his place. Castiel stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

It took Castiel another two weeks to lose the whooping cough he had. It took two more trips to the doctors office to get him an inhaler and another week to be cleared to go back to work.

Donny was more than ecstatic to have Castiel back. He enthusiastically handed Castiel back his jumpsuit and gave him a gentle to-do list for his first week back. Dean hovered nearly obsessively every day, making sure to watch Castiel take a puff of his inhaler every morning before work. They took the elevator instead of the stairs, even though Castiel insisted that he could at the very least manage going down them. “I’m recovering from pneumonia, Dean, I’m not an invalid!”

Though not an invalid, Castiel still hadn’t gone back to...wherever it was he went when he wasn’t with Dean. Their evenings were comfortable and warm, spent watching movies and eating takeout on the couch when Dean was too tired to cook. He’d tried a couple of times to get Castiel to use the stovetop, but the day that he set a pancake on fire, Dean resolved that Castiel ought to stay out of the kitchen unless he was cleaning the dishes.

It was the kind of comfort that felt like it could stay. There wasn’t any looming end to it-not yet, at least.

Then one night Dean had a few too many beers under his belt when he opened his mouth and the words tumbled out, “hey, Cas, why don’t you move in with me?”

Castiel gawked at him and fumbled with his fork, sending it to the floor with a soft-sounding _thud_. “What?” he squeaked.

* * *

 


	3. Ever-changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was only five-thirty, but Dean swung himself from the bed, wincing at the squelching liquid cooling over his cock. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d had a wet dream, but considering that this one just so happened the night after Castiel had moved in...couldn’t be good. He didn’t even try to grasp at the fading tendrils of the dream like he usually did in desperation. He let them fade from his memory as he stepped under the warm stream of the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: non-explicit mentions of sex (wet dream), panic attack, alcohol

Dean paused, looking down the alleyway, and then glancing back to Castiel. “Really?” he finally asked. “You...you slept here?”

Castiel nodded and turned back to the wall that was littered with newspaper clipping. “Every night. I was able to get most of my belongings from the homeless shelters and soup kitchens at churches.”

“What about like...what about eating?”

Castiel gave a weak smile. “I bought food with the money I got from recycling. Mostly dollar meals and discount boxes of cereal bars. I bought Benadryl when I could.”

Dean could only stare. “Dude. Why didn’t you say something to me sooner? I mean...shit. I could have done so much more for you.

He only shook his head in response. “Dean, you...have been a blessing. You’ve fed me, clothed me, took care of me when ill. There was not much else you could have done for me.” He didn’t deserve even that much, not with his history.

Dean snorted. “You make me sound like a mother, dude. Just...basic human decency, I swear.” Castiel only rolled his eyes at that and continued to place his meager belongings in the backpack.

As Dean began to help pack up his things, he noticed a trend in the magazine clippings they were pulling off of the walls. They all had to do with Angelson’s Law Firm and their clients or big moves they were making. He shuffled through a few of them before looking at Castiel and asking, “hey what’s your deal with ALF?”

Castiel whipped around, blue eyes almost comically wide and he snatched the sheaf of clippings from Dean’s hands. He stuffed them unceremoniously into the small pocket of the backpack. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “Just holding onto a part of my life I desperately need to let go of.”

All of Castiel’s belongings fit into his backpack and a duffel that Dean had brought with them. A brief wave of nostalgia overwhelmed him as the two of them worked to shove the dumpster back in front of the hole in the wall.

And then Dean said, as they walked to the Impala, “I’m really glad we’re getting you out of there, man. That place...that wasn’t okay.”

Castiel smiled gently at him as he buckled his seatbelt. “Thank you Dean. I greatly appreciate everything that you’ve done for me.”

Dean, as usual, waved him off. “Don’t mention it.”

They had spent a weekend cleaning out the study of Dean’s apartment. The vacuumed the floors and dusted the windowsills. Dean pulled the twin mattress that had been collecting dust out of his storage unit and brought Castiel with him to Kohl’s to pick out two sheet sets. That adventure ended with Dean nearly forcibly dragging Castiel out of the linens section because he couldn’t stop petting the fleece sheets.

“It’s nearly the middle of the summer, dude! You cannot have two sets of fleece sheets!”

“You said whatever I wanted!”

“I said within reason!”

The pout that Castiel wore for the next few minutes was enough to make Dean's heart skip a beat, rather uncomfortably.

They ended up with two fleece sets and one regular set.

Castiel's meager belongings didn't even begin to fill up the dresser in the room so they ended up back at kohl's, walking Castiel into the dressing rooms with a pile of new clothes. He grew particularly fond of V-necks and straight-legged jeans.

He came out of the fitting room with dark wash jeans, a sky blue v-neck and the boots that Dean had bought for him on their last trip. He put his arms hesitantly in the air and spun around, nearly stumbling on his own feet. “Dean?” he asked lightly.

Dean was gawking, if he was being honest with himself. His jaw hung slightly open, his arms dangling uselessly at his sides. His dick twitched in interest as his brain plagued him with images of himself licking up Castiel’s chest where the V of the shirt dipped.

He swallowed, jolting to life again. “You look amazing Cas. We’re getting those.”

“The shirt or the jeans?”

“Both. Both are good. We’re getting both.”

That Sunday night, after having said their goodnights over cups of lavender tea Castiel had convinced Dean to buy, they went to bed. Castiel sank into his mattress, feeling like a prince. Dean felt mostly confused, a quiet sense of contentment in his gut at having finally listened to himself.

He woke the next morning gasping, a damn stickiness spreading through his boxers. Still hazy from sleep, he pulled up the elastic of his boxers to see if he had, in fact, come on himself in his sleep.

His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the creamy fluid coating his dick and pooling at his hips. He sighed heavily, clenching his eyes shut. He could have guessed that this might happen, but he didn't want to admit that it was highly likely.

It was only five-thirty, but Dean swung himself from the bed, wincing at the squelching liquid cooling over his cock. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d had a wet dream, but considering that this one just so happened the night after Castiel had moved in...couldn’t be good. He didn’t even try to grasp at the fading tendrils of the dream like he usually did in desperation. He let them fade from his memory as he stepped under the warm stream of the shower.

Castiel woke to the sound of the shower running, Dean’s deep voice humming lightly through the walls, content in the early morning haze. The sun was trying its best to glare at Castiel through the new curtains and he had to fight the sudden urge to bury himself under the plush blankets. How long had it been now, since he’d had to the chance to bury himself in blankets that weren’t covering concrete? His back was thanking him.

He swung himself out of bed, itching absently at his belly. The neon numbers on the clock alerted him that it was only six am--there was still an hour before Dean was usually woke. That was...odd.

Castiel meandered to the kitchen, determination filling his veins. His checks were going to soon be routed to Dean’s address, and he was going to switch his bank account to Dean’s name as well. He was unsure of how much longer he’d be capable of flying under the radar, but he refused to be like a lump on a log in Dean’s life.

Dean came out of the bathroom, shirtless, slacks unbuckled around his hips and his hair still dripping to see Castiel fiddling fruitlessly with the coffee maker. “Havin’ some trouble there?”

Castiel jumped away from the counter, an excuse on the tip of his tongue, and his eyes zeroed in on the light trail of hair just below Dean’s belly button, disappearing under his waistband.

“I wanted to make coffee,” he stated blandly, quickly averting his eyes to the wall behind Dean. He’d suppressed that part of him for so long--that want, that fierce desire that burned through him every so often. And God help him, Dean had woken it with a few well-cooked meals and blinding smiles.

Dean laughed at him, hiking his slacks up. “Give me five and I’ll make us both a cup.”

Castiel pursed his lips. “I do live here now,” he said firmly, yet quietly. “I’m going to have to learn sometime.”

Dean softened. “Hey, it’s okay Cas. I’ll show you, don’t worry. Just...acclimate for now. You’re sleeping in a real bed, using a real shower and you’ve got yourself a real job with a real paycheck.”

His frown deepened. “The showers at Sandover are real showers. They felt very real to me.”

Dean coughed and raised an eyebrow. “You...you just go do that. I’ll worry about the coffee.”

Castiel sighed, but turned and went to the shower anyways. He still wasn’t used to sleeping soundly, not having to wake every four hours at the fear of being arrested for squatting. It was amazing, if he really allowed himself to slow down and think about it. A little over two years ago, he’d been a powerful attorney, lusted after, hated, envied.

All of that had been snatched away from him in a matter of two short days, a quick decision and a sinking feeling in his gut that changed the rest of his life.

A knock on the bathroom door startled him. “You alive in there, Cas?”

“Y-Yes, I am. I’ll be out momentarily,” he stammered, quickly slathering shower gel over his body. That was also something he’d have to get used to again. For two years, he’d used cheap drying soap samples that irritated his skin and made him question whether having clean skin was worth the pinched dryness that inevitably followed. Dean’s Dove brand soap was a luxury.

Donny and Victor had excitedly congratulated Castiel on his move in with Dean. Donny gave Dean a particularly bright smile, similar to that of a proud father watching his son grow up. It made Dean’s heart clench near painfully. That’s how he’d ended up here of course--he had to make his dad proud.

He clapped Castiel particularly roughly across the back as they parted ways. “I’ll see you later, Cas,” he said, nearly biting through his cheek as he walked away. He walked by Adler on the way to his office, who shot him a dirty look that nearly made Dean punch the wall and quit right then and there.

He felt like he was nine years old again.

There was so much pent up rage in his small body, lithe bones. He thought he’d burst with the anger, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because he’d promised his mother that he’d take care of Sammy, and he’d promised his father that he wouldn’t get himself into any trouble so that he could take care of Sammy.

He hated this fucking job with every single fiber of his being.

Dean found himself sitting at his desk staring listlessly at the same computer screen he’d stared at for the past ten years. And for what? A boss who wouldn’t get off of his ass and an extra couple of vacation days? Was the savings account he’d amassed really worth it?

The phone rang, jolting him out of his rapidly spiralling thoughts. “Smith, Financial Office, how can I help you today?”

“Can you shove one of those fancy analyses you run right up my-”

“Charlie!” Dean hissed, choking on his sudden laughter. “I think they have these phones wired, what do you want?”

“My Dean-y senses were tingling. I just had to call and see how my favorite person was doing. And by favorite person, I mean Cas, of course.”

Dean rolled his eyes, finally signing into his account. “First of all, I don’t want to hear about any of your senses tingling. That’s gross. Second of all, I’m fine, you wench.”

Charlie’s ringing laughter helped clear Dean’s mind for at least a moment. “Seriously, how are you? How’d the big move go?”

Dean snorted. “It really wasn’t _big_ , Charlie. He had like five things.”

“Whatever. Have you professed your undying love for him yet?”

“You are the worst,” he deadpanned.

“Love you too,” she giggled. “Anyways. Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing, don’t.” The buzzing of the dial tone filled his ears just then and he reluctantly placed the phone back into its cradle.

Dean stared at the receiver cradled in his palm. Charlie was something special, that much was for sure. He’d met her right after Sam moved to Berkeley. They ran into each other at a comic book store, in which Dean bumped into her and nearly creased her mint condition original Batman comics. After a profuse apology, an offer for coffee, and an assurance that neither of them were attracted to the other, a quirky friendship blossomed.

Every so often Charlie would show up at Dean’s apartment (always univited) for an obligatory marathon of one of their favorite movies or TV shows. Sometimes she even managed to drag him out to the bar, just to ensure that Dean could still hold his alcohol (most of the time, he could.)

Part of their, frankly odd relationship, was Charlie’s uncanny ability to predict how Dean was feeling at any given moment, thus explaining her random, early-morning phone call just then.

Dean sighed, scratching at his neck as he opened up his list of tasks for the day. Was he really on the verge of doing something stupid? Really, he’d let a homeless man move in with him after only knowing him for a few short months, what else could he possibly do?

The question nagged him throughout his day. Ella even sensed how off he was, choosing to use the intercom rather than poking her head into his office when she had a question. She dropped his lunch off with a gentle smile, her eyes soft and warm, as if hoping to coax Dean out of his peculiar mood.

It didn’t quite work.

Four pm rolled around and Dean packed up his briefcase hastily, forgoing his normal routine of making sure every paper had its home and jamming everything inside as quickly as he could.

He found Castiel clocking out, his uniform rolled neatly under his arm. He only gave him a slight nod before walking away to the parking lot.

Castiel couldn't figure out what was on Dean's mind. His eyes were dark, his posture stiff, closed off. Had he done something wrong? Maybe it was his insistence at fleece sheets; they were at least ten dollars more than the regular sheet sets. Had that upset Dean?

Something even worse crossed his mind, blood draining from his face. Had Dean been in contact with his brothers? Was all of this a ploy to ensure that he could never pose a problem again? Even after two years?

They arrived at the apartment and Castiel walked stiffly past Dean to put his uniform into his room and change out of his constricting clothes into pajamas. If he was going to die, he’d rather go comfortably.

He was rather confused though, when he came out to find Dean in the kitchen, pulling two mugs down from the cabinet, the kettle just working its way up to a shriek. Hearing his footsteps, Dean turned and gave him a tired grin. “What’s your poison? Peppermint or hibiscus?”

Castiel tilted his head to the side just slightly. “Hibiscus please. With honey.” Had he misread Dean's tenacity in the car?

Dean nodded. "How was your day?"

Castiel took an uneasy seat at the table. "Um, it was okay. Did you know Zachariah eats an inordinate amount of salad? His entire garbage can was full of salad to-go containers.”

“Za-? Ohh, Adler,” Dean snorted. “That actually doesn’t surprise me. And yet the man still looks like an albino oompa-loompa.” Castiel hummed in agreement as Dean poured water over their mugs.

They sat together in silence for a few moments, as steam curled up in front of them from their mugs of tea. And you, Dean?” Castiel finally asked. “How was your day?”

He made a noncommittal sound and shrugged. “Eh, it was...the same. The same as it has been every single day for the past ten years of my freakin’ life.” The venom in his voice was near palpable and Castiel realized that he had merely been being paranoid; this wasn’t about him at all.

He ran a fingertip around the rim of his coffee mug. “You sound...unsettled about that.”

“Well, yeah!” Dean exclaimed, swiping a hand through his hair. “This...I never wanted this, you know?” He sighed. “My mom died when I was just a kid. And then my dad worked himself literally to death. I promised them both I’d make a good life for myself, and do whatever it took to take care of Sammy. And, well,” he waved his arms out, gesturing to the entirety of his apartment. “I did that.”

Castiel took a slow sip of his tea. “So, what now. Sam is a grown man, fresh out of law school. He seems to be faring well.”

Dean snorted into his mug. “Yeah, it’s been the weirdest role-reversal. _He’s_ been taking care of _me_. How weird is that?”

The faintest of smiles tugged at Castiel’s lips. “I can’t even imagine,” he replied. “Speaking of Sam, though. When will I get to meet him?”

Chewing his lip, Dean shrugged. “Probably in a couple of weeks. He comes up every now and again to drag me out to the bar or try to find me a date.”

“I can’t imagine you having difficulty with finding a date,” Castiel laughed, the words escaping his mouth before he had the chance to think them through.

Dean scratched at the back of his head. “Yeah, well…I’m, um. I’m going to watch a little TV, wind down a bit. Care to join me?”

* * *

 

The two weeks prior to Sam’s visit went by insanely fast. Castiel settled into his new bedroom. On his laptop, Dean showed him that his paychecks were direct-deposited into an account under Dean’s name--he got his own debit card. He made his bed every morning and learned how to make scrambled eggs without setting anything on fire. Albeit, it took three or four failures to figure out what he was doing wrong before he could produce something that even resembled breakfast.

Dean was feeling increasingly dissatisfied at Sandover, and kept trying to figure what he could do to ease the odd pang in his stomach every time he came into the office. It started with ordering a chocolate chip muffin with his lunch. Ella actually stuttered when he did. “Are-are you sure, sir?” Dean nodded, forcing a happy grin onto his face.

And then he ordered fried chicken tenders on his salad-not baked. Ella met his request with wide eyes and a slightly frantic nod. Had her boss finally gone insane? Had the long hours and inordinate amount of numbers he had to process finally go to his head?

Quite frankly, it wouldn’t surprise her.

A few nights prior to Sam’s arrival, Dean left Castiel at the apartment for a trip to the bar. Of course, he’d been invited along, but Castiel was more interested in browsing the Internet.

Dean found himself on the edge of a bar stool, staring down at a glass of liquor. He sloshed it about a couple of time, took a swig, and then set it back down.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, brother?”

Dean met glimmering green eyes with a glare. “Benny. Not funny, man.”

The barman gave a hearty chuckle, refilling Dean’s glass a little bit. “Sorry, I can’t let that one go.”

“One time. It was _one_ time!”

Benny only laughed harder, leaning over the bar. “So, seriously. What’s going on?”

Dean chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment before finally blurting, “I have feelings for a man I hardly know.” When there was no response, he looked up to see Benny gawking at him, hand poised over the clean glasses. Another customer yelled for him and he whirled, composure good as new again as he poured their drink and made some small talk.

When he came back, Dean’s glass was empty again, and his eyes were wide, indicating a build up of panic while Benny had his back turned. He refilled Dean’s glass and then said, “you’re cut off. Now explain before I have to go tend to another alcoholic.”

Dean stared blankly at his glass before meeting Benny’s eyes again. “I...I met him a few months back. Turn of the seasons, I guess. He’s...he’s such a weird guy, Benny!”

“I’d be worried if you fell for anyone you deemed normal,” Benny confessed.

Dean shot him another glare. “He only drinks flowery teas and he’s obsessed with local honey and he’s never seen Star Wars _or_ Lord of The Rings.”

Benny gawked again. “What do you see in this man?”

“That’s exactly my point!” Dean cried, drawing the attention of a few curious customers.

Benny sucked in his cheeks and whistled. “Alright, brother. Go home for the night. Bring ‘im here next time! Mystery man has gotta pass my tests.”

Dean groaned but got up nonetheless, dropping a twenty on the counter before giving Benny a salute and seeing his way out.

Castiel spent the hour that Dean was at the bar doing as much research on his family as he could. He needed to keep track of his brothers and what the firm was doing; he had to ensure that they wouldn’t come back for him. As much as the thought tugged at his heart, he would much rather cope with them leaving him for dead rather than coming back looking for him again two years after the fact.

Dean came home and Castiel rapidly closed the windows he had opened on the laptop and replaced the tabs with a single email website. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he struggled for a moment to rearrange his features into those reflecting deep thought.

“What are you up to?” he asked, resting his hands lightly over Castiel’s shoulders.

Castiel could smell the dark musk of liquor over Dean’s natural scent and he inhaled slightly, the warmth of Dean’s palms seeping into his shoulders. “Um, Donny suggested I open up an email account. I’m not sure what for, but I figured I’d try anyways. I haven’t been around computers for a while, save for the ancient processors at the library here and there.”

“Heh,” Dean chuckled and squeezed Castiel’s shoulders. “Those are some shit computers. Do you need any help?”

“Oh, no. I’m quite apt with computers. I’m just a little bit rusty. Thank you, though.”

Dean shrugged. “No worries. We’re picking Sam up on Friday, don’t forget.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, maintaining his gaze on the computer screen. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to look Dean in the eye, and see them glassy and dilated due to alcohol and not react. “Of course not, it’s all you’ve spoken to me about this week.”

Dean pointed an accusatory finger, which Castiel could just barely make out in the screen in front of him. “That is a lie! We made dinner plans!”

“And then we made dinner plans regarding Sam’s visit.”

There was a huff behind him and then, “goodnight, you spaz. Two more days of work and you can meet my own personal jolly green giant!”

“I don’t think you actually own him…”

“Goodnight, Cas.”

* * *

 

Sam really was a giant. Castiel felt slightly cowed just by his presence alone. His friendly eyes and long hair made him less intimidating, and he had a large smile that made Castiel’s face feel the need to imitate it. He had a firm grip when he shook Castiel’s hand and then an even stronger hug that he pulled Castiel into with a laugh.

“It’s really great to finally meet you! I’ve heard a lot about you!”

“Likewise,” Castiel said mildly, trying to smooth his hair back down from the jarring hug. “Dean is very fond of you.”

Dean was behind the wheel in the Impala and smacked it lightly. “Aw, Cas don’t tell ‘im that! He’ll think he can get away with shit!”

Sam snorted and threw himself into the passenger seat, long legs stretching out only slightly. “As if I haven’t my entire life already.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut it.”

It was strange. Castiel had seen so few facets of Dean, and all of them were similarly professional, save for the times it rained and Dean gleefully leapt through puddles like that of a child. Seeing him with his brother...that was an entirely different facet altogether.

His face lighted up with an unmatchable joy, his laughter bounced off the walls of the car. It was something that Castiel hadn’t even heard while they were watching late night reruns of Whose Line. It was very quickly becoming his favorite sound. He also seemed more relaxed, which was a sight to behold as well.

When they arrived back home, Sam immediately went to the fridge, opened it and then yelled a complaint about the lack of food and the taste of meals on wheels on the train.

“Quit your whining!” Dean hollered from his room. “We’re going out tonight, and then for breakfast tomorrow.”

Sam froze, and then turned to Castiel. “This is your doing,” he said flatly.

Castiel’s eyes widened and he took a step backwards. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve hardly been able to get him out of this damn apartment for years, Cas. Years. And you’ve done it in a few short weeks.”

Castiel ducked his head shyly. “Well, to be fair, I’ve known him for a several months now.”

Sam cocked his head curiously. “Really? Hmm...well, I guess that makes sense. Dean forgot to tell me about his promotion for two months. Of course he’d forget to tell me about making new friends.”

Right then, Dean turned the corner and paused, raising an eyebrow at his brother. “Are ya’ll already talking shit? You just met.”

“Hah! Not nearly. Where are we going for dinner?”

Dean snorted. “Where do you think?”

A grin grew across Sam’s face. “Oh man, I haven’t seen Benny in _years_. This is going to be a great night. When did you turn twenty again?!”

Dean only shook his head in response. “Let’s go, you weirdos.”

Benny was more than gleeful to see Dean again so soon. He was so gleeful, in fact, that not twenty minutes after their arrival, Charlie came squealing into the bar and launched herself at Sam in a blur of red hair. Sam, ever vigilant, caught her with ease, laughing at her enthusiasm.

She leapt down from him and proceeded to punch him lightly in the arm. “Why has it been so long since I’ve seen your giant ass?” she asked, affronted.

Sam shrugged, pulling his hair back. “I dunno! Ask Dean!”

Dean immediately put his hands in the air. “Hey, do not not put me in the middle of this! Damn.”

Castiel watched the interaction with amusement. It was entirely different seeing the three of them together. Charlie was totally comfortable with both men, and even flashed Castiel a manic grin. “It’s good to see you on your feet, man!”

Castiel smiled back at her. “It’s good to be on my feet!” He found himself pushing inwards in the booth to accommodate for Charlie.

She placed her hand across her chest. “Aw, a man after my own heart! Willing and ready to share the Winchesters!”

Castiel shrugged, picking at the plastic on the table. “I believe they were yours to begin with.”

Dean smacked a hand on the table. “Make us sound like kept men, why don’t you, Cas?”

Castiel shrugged, smiling into his shoulder. He didn’t want to try and insert himself into the conversation, or take over. When it came down to it, he was mostly grateful to be surrounded by kind people who seemed to genuinely enjoy his presence, and weren’t being forced to do so. He didn’t have to pretend that he was someone else. He was comfortable, warm, and appreciated.

“Looks like we’re all here!” A booming voice made Castiel stiffen in panic. He turned to see a man leaning against their booth. He had a hearty beard, bright eyes and a friendly smile. “What can I get my friends?”

Dean ordered a beer, Sam ordered a scotch, Charlie got sangria. Just as Castiel opened his mouth to place his order, the man cut him off with a loud laugh. “And who are you, my friend? I’ve never seen you with this crew!”

Castiel blinked. “Well…” he began.

“Benny,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “This is my friend Cas. Cas, Benny.”

Castiel ducked his head. “Good to meet you, Benny. I’ve heard much about you.”

"Have you now?" Benny chuckled. "I hope Dean hasn't been singing too much praise of me!"

Dean glared at his friend. "Of course I haven't Benny, there isn't as much to sing about as one would think."

Benny pouted. "I'm injured, pal. Now, what can I get for you, Cas my friend?"

Castiel glanced between the two men, sure that there was some underlying conversation that he was missing. Benny seemed to be forcing the easygoing banter, and it was bordering on rude. Across from him, Dean had tensed up, locking eyes with Benny in a way that was quickly proving not to be as friendly as some would perceive it as.

He cleared his throat. "I'll have a scotch on the rocks, if you will."

Benny chortled and nodded. "Man after my own heart!"

"Hey," Charlie whined. "I just said that!" Benny laughed all the way back behind the bar.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Benny had come scarily close to crossing a line right there with more than one thing. Flirting with Cas, subtly mentioning their own hookup...what was he playing at?! Did he have something to prove? Was there more to their friendship than he'd been thinking?

He began to panic. Maybe coming out here had been a bad idea. Of course, he couldn't let Castiel stay cooped up in the apartment like a caged bird but something had to be better than his past and a hope for a future dangling precariously in front of him at the same time.

He eased himself back into casual conversation with Sam and Charlie, noting Castiel's quiet demeanor. They ended up ordering four appetizers to share amongst themselves, picking from each other's plate. Benny occasionally came over from the bar with more drinks and to steal a French fry, winking salaciously at Dean every now and again.

Dean kept tossing back his beer, ignoring the quivering rage that was building in his gut. He laughed too loudly at Sam's jokes and nudged Castiel occasionally, trying to squeeze more than an accommodating smile out of him.

Quite frankly, Castiel was okay with quietly enjoying himself. The evening wasn’t about him-it was about Sam and Dean finally seeing each other and enjoying their time together. It was mostly good seeing Dean so relaxed, save for the odd tensing in his neck, the occasional downward twitch of his lip. Otherwise he seemed entirely at ease.

At one point halfway through the evening Castiel nudged Charlie out of the booth so he could get them more drinks. When he got to the bar, Benny raised a questioning eyebrow. "You got the grunt work?" he asked amicably.

Castiel shrugged. "No, I'm okay with it. They're all enjoying themselves."

"And you aren't?"

"No, I am. It's just a lot of inside jokes and stories with not enough background. I feel like a fly on the wall."

Benny smiled. "I know the feeling brother. How bout some whiskey to cure ya?"

Castiel nodded, smiling shyly at the floor. "That's a good idea."

Dean watched as Benny dropped the drink in front of Castiel, and his heart clenched. Seriously, what was Benny playing at here? Dean very clearly said Castiel's name... He paused mid thought. He hadn't. But Benny had to have known, right? Or was he just intentionally being a jerk, testing Dean's limits?

He finally stood up and walked over to the bar to find Castiel laughing at something that Benny had said,nursing his scotch. "Heya, Cas."

"Oh hello, Dean. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I got sidetracked."

Dean smiled tightly. "It's all good Cas. Had to make sure Benny wasn't harassing you."

"Nah, I ain't harassing him. Just entertaining him." Benny set a beer in front of Dean. "Ya'll enjoying your meal?"

"Hell yeah man. The company ain't too shabby either." He smiled a little bit, trying to catch Cas' eye. Sam was asking how they'd met and decided to move in together and it was getting decidedly awkward.

The realization suddenly dawned on Benny. Cas was Dean's weird guy, the one he'd had a crush on and promised to bring to meet Benny.

What an ass he'd been.

He reached behind him to make the drinks that everyone had finished at the table and handed them off to Dean and Castiel, trying to think of a remedy for this stupidity. "Holler if ya'll need anything, alright?"

Dean saluted him as they walked back to their table.

Sam and Charlie seemed to be deep in conversation, leaning over the middle of the table, Sam gesturing wildly. He turned to Dean when they got back, eyebrows nearly in his hairline.

"Dude," he said, affronted. "You never told me that Cas was Castiel, as in estranged brother from Angelson's Law Firm, you know, _the one that I work for_?" Recognition dawned on Dean; that was why Castiel looked so familiar. Years ago, he'd been seen him on the news with his brothers. All those ALF articles were about his _brothers_.

The color drained from Castiel's face and he dropped the drink he hadn't yet set down, glass shattering on impact, soaking his ankles in alcohol. Benny rushed over with a towel and a broom, trying to play damage control for a damage that was way out of his control.

He could hear Dean talking, arguing with Sam. There were a lot of “what” and “you’re wrong”’s thrown out. Castiel staggered backwards, glass crunching under his feet. Benny was trying to talk to him but the words were muffled, as though being spoken through a wall. He turned and darted for the front door of the bar, barely acknowledging Dean’s cry, asking him where the hell he was going.

Anywhere. Anywhere but here. Sam knew who he was--how couldn’t he? Sam worked for his brothers! The same cruel bastards that had thrown Castiel out on his ass had employed sweet, gentle giant Sam Smith.

What a twisted and cruel world he lived in.

Castiel leaned over the curb and vomited loudly and violently, his stomach churning. Liquid splashed up at him from the pavement, making him wince and gag again. A hand rubbed itself over his back, Dean’s soothing voice whispering in his ear. “It’s alright man, come on, get it all out.” He reached forward and swiped Castiel’s hair from his forehead, carefully rubbing down his neck. “You’ll be okay. Let’s get you home.” He produced a water bottle from nowhere, holding it to Castiel’s neck, and then helping him straighten up so he could drink some of it.

He was shaking near violently, and still was unable to speak. Dean led him to the Impala, tucking him into the passenger seat and pulling the belt over his midsection.

They were halfway to the apartment before Castiel finally spoke. “I must have had too much to drink,” he whispered, his voice rough.

“Bullshit,” Dean spat harshly. “That, back there? That was fear. That was pure, unadulterated fear. You need to talk to me Cas, tell me what happened.”

Instead, Castiel asked, “where are Charlie and Sam?”

Dean rolled his eyes, accelerating slightly. “Charlie drove herself to the bar, so she’s going to bring Sam back later on. Cas, I need you to talk to me.”

He sighed. There was no way he was getting out of this.

It was nice while it lasted.

* * *

 

Back at the apartment, Castiel changed into his pajamas and put on tea. Hopefully it would calm his nerves as he explained everything to Dean.

“My family was very traditional,” he began. “We had church every Sunday. It was just me, my older brothers--Raphael, Uriel, and Michael. And my younger sister, Anna.”

They were never really close, when he looked back at it. There was always a respectable amount of distance between them, conversation polite and quiet. Their father was a huge defense lawyer in the state of California. Many people assumed he was inherently evil, defending some of the worst people in the area. But he was actually a great guy, he always brought his kids for ice cream on the weekends, buying his wife flowers every month. He read the Bible to the five of them every night and showered them with gifts on their birthdays and holidays. His dream was to see his four boys take over his law firm some day, doing the same thing that he did.

Castiel was twenty-four when his father died, halfway through law school. He took his place with his brothers at the law firm, now entitled Angelson’s, when he turned twenty-seven. In three short years, he and his brothers made a name for themselves, just as malicious as their father.

The only difference was, that his brothers weren’t kind like their father. They were cold and calculating, making threats where necessary, and only giving the bare minimum of attention to their family. It all but killed Anna and their mother as they grew apart, and took on harder and harder cases.

And then one day, early into his thirties, Castiel felt like his eyes had been opened. He couldn’t carry on with his career. His brothers had thrown a case at him, a notorious serial rapist, with miles of evidence against him. They knew Castiel could spin the story to fit his needs, and allow him to be released from custody and into the public again.

He couldn’t do it. He’d looked up to his father his entire life but this...this went beyond what their father did. He did petty criminals and teens who had accidentally wracked up a record against themselves; he worked with abusers or thieves. Rapists? Arsonists? Murder? He never defended those people. Castiel couldn’t remember when he’d gotten so wrapped up in pleasing his brothers.

Reality hit him, quite literally, with a punch to the face. When he confronted his brothers that he refused to take the case, Uriel had sneered at him. Raphael punched him hard in the cheek. Michael stood there quietly through all of it.

“Enough, brothers,” he said softly. He met Castiel’s eyes. “You are a disappointment to us, brother. Are you sure you’re ready for the consequences of this decision?”

“Nothing can be worse than what I’ve already done here,” he spat in response.

Raphael raised his chin; Michael nodded subtly at him. “Leave, Castiel. Do not pass ‘Go’, do not collect two hundred dollars. In fact, give us your shoes.”

Castiel flinched. “What? What the hell are you on about?”

Uriel stepped into Castiel’s space, growling, “you leave. Right. Now. Do not go back to your apartment. We’ll know. If you try to go back to your apartment we will smear your name across the country in such a way that you won’t even be able to get a job flipping burgers and if you do? We'll find out and you won't hold down that job for long. Now _leave_.”

Castiel floundered, stepping backwards. "Where do you expect me to go then?!"

"You ask us like we care," Michael said coldly. "Just leave and do not ever let us see you again. We will ruin you."

Castiel swiped at a stray tear as he explained everything to Dean. He’d done his best to not think of the incident, and just ensure that he was following his brothers’ movements, praying that they’d never catch up to him. He’d traveled away from the city and upstate to stay out of their radar. Why did Sam have to work under them?

Across from him, Dean sat stock still, cradling his mug in both hands. “Jesus, Cas. That is some shit. Why would you keep that from me?”

Castiel shook his head. “It wasn’t anything personal Dean, you have to understand that. It was for my safety. If they found that I was receiving care for any reason, they won't hesitate to ruin my life. A man is only as good as his name." His voice shook as he tried to maintain a calm.

"Nah, Cas, don't say that kind of shit. That's not true."

"Yes it is!" Castiel cried. "Donny took me under his wing because he didn't know me! I was just a homeless man who needed help. Vinny trusted me for the same reason. If they knew...I have a past Dean, an ugly one. It took me far too long to see that I was becoming a man that I never wanted to be."

"Dammit Cas!" Dean dropped his mug to the table, making it clatter noisily. "None of that is true! You are... You are such a kind man. You are grateful for everything, you try to make a good impact everywhere that you go. Don't try to tell me you're not a good man because I will not hear it."

Castiel sighed, staring down into his mug. "If you say so, " he murmured under his breath. "I just... That's what all happened, Dean. So Sam had it right. I am that estranged brother."

Dean took a deep breath. "That's okay, Cas. We'll handle this. How about you go ahead and go to bed, and I'll explain everything to Sam when Charlie drops him off. How's that sound?"

Castiel nodded. "That'll work for me. Thank you Dean." He stood up and brought his mug to the sink. "Your hospitality has changed my life."

When Sam and Charlie arrived a short hour later, Dean struggled to explain the entire thing to them. "You can't say anything to anyone Sam. You've gotta pretend like you didn't even meet him. Can you do that?"

Sam nodded tensely. "Absolutely, Dean."

Charlie saw herself out after the explanation a little bit more than shaken up. Sam unfolded the couch and proceeded to say goodnight to his brother. The sudden stress at the end of the night was enough to wear him out entirely.

Dean was also exhausted. Worry churned low in his gut. There wasn’t much that he could do to protect Castiel from his family, especially high-power defense attorneys. Knowing them, they’d be able to dig up whatever they wanted to justify kicking him to the curb and threatening the rest of his life. The feeling of powerlessness that resulted from that knowledge shook him to the core.

He was just beginning to acknowledge that he had feelings for this enigma of a man who had stumbled into his life late one evening...he wasn’t ready to lose him already.

* * *

 


	4. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel was also fond of falling asleep on Dean during movies. They’d had to watch Lord of The Rings three times because he kept nodding off right in the middle and Dean never noticed until his head was lolling, his body going lax. His head would drop onto Dean’s shoulder and Dean would stiffen, unsure of what to do. The situation only further complicated when Castiel sometimes wraps himself around Dean’s arm, curling up over his shoulder.  
> Really, the entire thing was just unraveling to reveal a giant mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: alcohol (drunkenness), dubious consent (drunk), mild sexual content (kissing/making out)

Dean was 100% sure that he was going to kill Adler. As summer swung easily into fall, the man loaded on the work for Dean, almost as if he was getting revenge for Dean’s increasing usage of his vacation and sick days, even going so far as to leave early on some days. He always came back later to pick up Castiel, but he found that being at the apartment made him only slightly happier than sitting behind his desk. Adler was always riding him to get more and more done in less and less time.

Ella was beside herself, unsure if Dean was upset with her or if she had done something wrong. Dean had to sit her down and explain that he wasn’t mad at her and that she was doing everything just right. “Ella,” he explained. “I’ve worked here for ten years and I’ve barely taken days off. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am and what do I have to show for it?”

She sighed, nodding. “I understand completely sir. I just had to be sure that my work for you wasn’t suffering, and I’d hope you’d tell me if it was.” She swiped a strand of hair behind her ear, looking at Dean with understanding in her eyes.

Dean laughed, standing up. “Ella, I don’t think your work could ever suffer. You are golden at what you do; there is no doubt about that.”

She giggled. “If you say so Mr. Smith. I just had to ensure I hadn’t done anything wrong.” Dean shook his head, shooing his assistant back to her office.

Castiel was enjoying the easy shift in seasons, loving the knowledge that he had someplace safe and warm for it. Dean had also gotten him a steady supply of allergy medication for the summer, so he didn’t so much as suffer from a stuffy nose. He enjoyed the fourth of July fireworks without a box of tissues at his side, on the roof of the apartment complex he and Dean lived in.

He felt marginally safer for some inexplicable reason, knowing that Dean and Sam knew his past, his history. They knew and they still accepted him, wanted him around. Although he knew there was nothing that they could do for him should his brothers find him again, it was reassuring knowing that he had people on his side with him.

His days were spent working at Sandover, quietly cleaning offices and bathrooms. Every morning he wiped down the gyms and bathrooms, sanitizing everything and restocking paper towels and hand sanitizer. Every evening he emptied the garbages and vacuumed the hallways and offices. It was slow and therapeutic. To say the least, he was enjoying it. Donny enjoyed his company as well.

His evenings were spent browsing the internet, searching for information on his brothers, teaching himself how to cook again. He read about how to make scrambled eggs and sausage, the perfect temperature to bake chicken at. He learned about the right way to check if brownies were done and the different ways to bake brownies.

It was always something new for him, every day. While some might think that it’s boring, monotonous. But to Castiel it was exciting, refreshing. It was relaxing as well, because there was no waking every couple of hours, or hiding from cops, or trying to get his fill at a food bank. He came home every night to real food (or takeout, on the occasion that he and Dean were too lazy to cook). On the weekends, Dean helped him relearn his way around the kitchen, teaching him how to scramble eggs without burning them, how to make a green smoothie and to freeze the banana for it.

At the end of the day, Castiel was growing to love his life more than Dean was loving his own. He was no longer living in fear, he had somewhat of a safety net now. Dean was growing increasingly irate and agitated. He was getting sick of waking up at seven every day, getting to work for eight-thirty and working until God-knew-when, just to have all his work thrown back into his face, a harsh slap from Adler.

The slap didn’t end with Adler though. It kept coming, harder and harder. Not only was Dean struggling with his tyrant of a boss, he was struggling with his housemate. Crush? Friend?

He was spending his weekends helping Castiel learn his way around a kitchen again, teaching him how to cook and soak burnt dishes. A lot of this involved peering over his shoulder to ensure he was moving the spatula enough to not burn the eggs, and holding his hand to keep steady while flipping a pancake. Just last weekend, he inadvertently placed his hand on Castiel’s hip to keep him steady as they flipped a pancake together. The air between them practically cackled, and Dean leapt away so fast that Castiel jerked, spilling the batter all over the pan.

That had been a hard one to brush off.

Castiel was also fond of falling asleep on Dean during movies. They’d had to watch Lord of The Rings three times because he kept nodding off right in the middle and Dean never noticed until his head was lolling, his body going lax. His head would drop onto Dean’s shoulder and Dean would stiffen, unsure of what to do. The situation only further complicated when Castiel sometimes wraps himself around Dean’s arm, curling up over his shoulder.

Really, the entire thing was just unraveling to reveal a giant mess.

On top of that, last Friday while Dean was waiting for Castiel to wrap up for them to go home, Adler’s own assistant ran out after Castiel, grabbing his arm. Dean watched the initial panic on his face turn into curiosity. Meg grabbed his arm, produced a Sharpie, and proceeded to scrawl her number down his arm. She winked at him, requested a text message and skipped back to her office.

Dean watched Castiel go into the apartment, immediately strip his jacket and run his arm under cool water in the sink, scrubbing off the harsh black against his pale skin. He didn’t say a word, just calmly scrubbed his arm clean and then patted it dry.

For some reason, the interaction got underneath Dean’s skin. He ended up making a massive salad and homemade dressing for dinner that night, baking chicken and chopping up jalapenos and aggressively dicing tomatoes. Castiel raised an eyebrow at his unusual behavior but said nothing.

Not even a week later, Dean watched Castiel’s phone vibrate on the table as they began to put their dinner away. Castiel frowned. “Who all has your number?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice light.

“Your brother, Charlie, Donny, Victor, and yourself. I don’t think...oh. That. That is just my luck.”

Dean peered over Castiel’s shoulder to read the text. _I figured since I hadn’t heard from you, I’d just have to take matters into my own hands. How are you Clarence?_

Dean gagged. “Clarence?” he asked darkly.

Castiel sighed. “That is...Meg’s nickname for me.”

“Nickname? When have ya’ll even had time to talk?”

Castiel’s cheeks flushed. “She’s been bringing me lunch for the past two weeks,” he mumbled.

“ _Oh_!” Dean leered, his stomach turning. “Cas has a girlfriend, now?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he snapped. “She wants to be, though.” He turned his screen back on and tapped out a reply to Meg before calmly tucking his phone back into his pocket

Dean had to swallow the bile that made its way up his throat at the thought. “Well...good luck with that, man.”

He’d meant the ‘good luck’ rhetorically though. He hadn’t expected Castiel to take him seriously. He’d expected a shrug.

In the last week of August, just as the California heat was beginning to really get stifling, Castiel got in the car after work, a look of sheer panic on his face. Dean waved a hand in front of his face. “You alright, Cas?” he asked worriedly.

Castiel turned to meet his eyes, bright blue piercing green. “Meg asked me on a date today.”

Dean immediately turned, trying to keep his mind from racing. He put the car in drive and asked, “What’d you say?”

“I told her I’d tell her my response tonight after I eat dinner. I figured it’s a decision better made on a full stomach.”

Dean paused at that. “Cas...have you never been on a date?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Castiel flush the same way that he had only a few weeks ago. “I’ve never had the opportunity. In between law school and subsequently ruining peoples’ lives, having the time to meet someone, let alone go on a date with them was rare.”

“You’ve never dated before?!” Dean asked, incredulous.

Castiel leveled a downright deathly glare at him. “I haven’t seen you on any dates since I’ve been living with you these past few months.”

Dean snorted. “That’s because I’m too busy taking care of your ass!”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. They came out in such a way that he didn’t mean; callous and harsh--heartless.

Castiel stiffened, turning to face right out the windshield. “I see,” he said shortly. “Well, my apologies for damaging your reputation. Hopefully my entering a relationship will heal that.”

“Cas, I didn’t mean-”

“I understand perfectly what you meant, Dean,” Castiel snapped. “I apologize for being such an inconvenience. Like I said, maybe my entering a relationship will rectify that.”

Dean sighed, making a fist against the steering wheel. “So where are you guys going?”

Castiel remained stiff, unwavering. “Do you actually care?”

“Cas, of course I care. You’re my friend-” he cringed. “I’d like to know you’re safe.”

“Meg isn’t a stranger-”

“Yeah, but she certainly isn’t sane, either. Is it so bad that I’d like to know where you’re going just in case anything were to happen to you?”

Castiel wanted to object to the question. Dean had just been complaining about taking care of him. If that was such a hassle, then why was he so concerned about keeping tabs on his date with Meg?

In reality, it wasn’t going to be much of a date. Castiel had extensively explained to Meg that she wasn’t his type-she didn’t possess the right genitalia for his liking-but she persisted. Eventually she gave in, “fine it won’t be date! It’ll be two friends getting to know each other, but will you call it a date just so that you can explain to me the look on Dean’s face?”

“Why do you care about what kind of face he makes?” Castiel inquired, tilting his head.

Meg only giggled, caressing a gentle hand across Castiel’s face. “Oh, Clarence,” she grinned. “You are just too cute. Let me know tonight if you’re in.”

Later that evening, Castiel texted Meg; _he seemed mildly appalled at the idea of you and I together on a date._

Meg texted back nearly instantly; _good. I’ll pick you up on Friday at 7. We’re going to Rizzini’s. Dress accordingly._ Her demanding tone came across crystal clear in the text message and Castiel found himself popping back into the living room where Dean was watching the news.

“What’s Rizzini’s?” he asked quietly.

Dean lurched, clutching his chest. “Man, you gotta stop doing that!”

Castiel cocked his head to the side. “Doing what?”

Dean only shook his head. “What’s a what now?”

“Rizzini’s.”

That brought Dean’s mind skidding to a halt. Meg was taking him to _Rizzini’s_? As in, the overpriced expensive Italian place downtown that you needed a two-month advance reservation to even get into? What the absolute fuck was Meg intending on bringing him _there_ for?

Dean swallowed. “Uh. Italian place. Overpriced. Fancy. Downtown. Anything else?” He nearly bit his tongue in his haste to get the words out.

Castiel sighed. “Maybe I ought to cancel...We didn’t--I don’t own anything considerably fancy.”

Dean swiped a guilty hand over his face. “Yeah, we didn’t think that far ahead when we went shopping for you, did we?”

Castiel shook his head slightly. “It is alright. I’ll let Meg know tomorrow at work.”

“No!” Dean wasn’t sure why he was so adamant. Didn’t he _very strongly_ dislike the idea of Castiel dating? But at the end of the day, Castiel wasn’t his. He’d brought Castiel into his home to give him a place to stretch his wings again, and have somewhere comfortable to live, and to be safe and healthy.

Castiel was staring at him expectantly. “Alright,” Dean conceded. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow after work, how’s that sound?”

* * *

 

Seeing Castiel in a suit and tie was going to be the death of Dean Smith, he was sure of it. He still had the perpetual mussed sex hair, and his brow was furrowed in discomfort. He pulled at the necktie and the store associate smacked his hands away and pulled the tie up again. Castiel met Dean’s eyes, a silent plea for help.

“So!” the associate clapped his hands. “How do you think your friend looks?”

“Handsome as hell,” Dean grinned, brushing an imaginary speck of dirt off of Castiel’s shoulder.

“I hate this tie,” Castiel grumbled under his breath. “How did I wear one of these every single day?”

Dean laughed slightly. “You knew you looked good? Hell if I know man. You want to ditch the tie?”

Castiel looked himself in the mirror, and shook his head. The suit was dark blue, a stark contrast to his pale skin. There was a crisp white shirt beneath the jacket, and the tie was the same blue.

It made his armpits itch, but he wasn’t so sure about sharing that information.

“Let’s get it,” he said.

Castiel had been working at Sandover for long enough that he was able to afford the nearly two hundred dollar suit on his own. He’d also begun pitching in on the groceries when Dean let him. Dean was still refusing to let him pay rent, so he did what he could, when he could get away with it. He absolutely refused to let Dean pay for his suit though. This was his responsibility, for a date he didn’t really want to go on.

Dean bought pizza for dinner that night, since they had been out taking care of his suit for so long. In the beginning, Dean refused to get takeout. Even after a bone-weary day at work, he’d come home and throw together a half-assed salad at the least. Now, after a long work day, he’d shrug and throw a takeout menu at Castiel; once barely wrinkled, now the text on it was fading and the creases were tearing.

Castiel wondered if he ought to be worried. He knew Dean was a man of routine, and ordering takeout three nights a week definitely wasn’t a part of that routine. At least, not initially, it wasn’t.

They ate their pizza and watched Men In Tights, slapping their thighs with greasy fingers. Dean’s laughter rang throughout the apartment, and Castiel found himself pausing so that he could watch Dean as he threw his head back, his eyes closed tightly against tears.

It was gloriously different from the man that Castiel had met in the beginning of the year in Sandover’s shower room. He’d relaxed much more since then. When cooking now, he didn’t pull out the measuring spoons. He pinched his fingers in the pepper and sprinkled it into the dish on his own will. He stopped ironing his suit jackets, shrugging into them at the last minute on their way out the door. An auto magazine appeared on the table one weekend, and more gradually began to join it. Castiel never questioned these things, though his curiosity was ever growing.

Just when he thought his curiosities about Dean were fading away, something else popped up that restored it anew. Something else always popped up.

* * *

 

Dean was not having a good week. Things had gone right downhill after they purchased Castiel’s suit. It begin with Adler giving him a warning about skipping out early so often. It didn’t matter that Dean had finished all of his work for the day, Adler was adamant that he work his forty hours, lest he want his salary to be deducted.

Dean had only rolled his eyes at that. His savings account was as large as a mountain, he wasn’t too worried. And that was his problem, wasn’t it? He’d become so complacent in his work lately. He used to look forward to it; coming in every day, being greeted by the ever bubbly Ella and then sitting down to work on the only things that often made sense to him: the numbers.

And now, the numbers weren’t making sense to him.

Of course, the icing on the cake of shitty week was Castiel going on his date the same night that Adler had just reamed Dean in front of their entire floor. It had taken every ounce of strength not to punch the man right in the teeth.

When they were leaving that afternoon, Meg had swung out of her office to call to Castiel, “see you tonight, hotshot!” and that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Dean was in a completely dark mood all the way back to the apartment. He merely grunted at Castiel, walking into the apartment and dropping his keys on the table with a loud clatter.

“Um, I’m probably going to take a shower so I can get ready...do you need the bathroom?”

“No,” Dean mumbled, yanking at his tie and throwing his jacket to his bedroom floor.

Castiel frowned, but shucked his work clothes anyways, moving to take a shower. He stood under the jet of hot water, swiping his hair out of his eyes. He’d need a haircut soon.

One thing he liked about having his own source of income now, is that he was able to buy his own soaps and shampoo. All of Dean’s soaps were musky and heavy; they felt like a quilt over Castiel’s body. He preferred his coconut scented soap. While Dean complained that they were “girly” Castiel occasionally heard him inhaling deeply when they went in for hugs.

He spread the soap over his body, washing away the grime and sweat spent from a day of cleaning up after others. As he scrubbed away, he glanced absentmindedly at his dick, hanging limply between his legs. He _really_ wasn’t looking forward to his date.

He tried to think of the last time he’d gotten an erection that wasn’t just his body messing with him. Almost in an instant, a visual of Dean leaning over him in the kitchen, guiding his hand over the spatula to flip the pancake, his hand coming to rest of his hip. The visual froze in his minds’ eye, and in his panic, his shampoo bottle slid out of his hand, clattering to the floor, killing the small tendril of warmth that had been growing in his gut.

“You alive in there, Cas?” Dean’s rough voice reached out to him from behind the door.

“U-um, yes. I’m fine, thank you.” Castiel shook his head, forcing the image to dissipate. How dare he get turned on by his housemate! What could cause him to have such impure thoughts about the man who so graciously, hospitably took him in?

 _He’s easy on the eyes_ , his traitorous mind whispered.

“So is Meg,” he rationalized under his breath.

_She absolutely is not, don’t lie to yourself._

Castiel sucked on his teeth, stepping back under the water. He was arguing with himself now, great. He wanted to back out of the date, but his social skills hadn’t diminished so much that he could say it wouldn’t be rude. On top of that, Meg worked on Dean’s floor. The last thing he wanted was her harassing Dean. At least if her attention was on him, Dean could work in peace...as much as one could while working under Adler.

He was watching Dean become more and more antsy and dissatisfied everyday after work. Had today been his breaking point? Castiel mused on the idea and rinsed the shampoo out of his hair.

Half an hour later, Castiel was in his slacks and undershirt trying desperately to smooth his hair back. It refused to stay flat though, it slowly curled back up after a moment or two, no matter how long he held it down with his hand.

“Dean!” he called crankily.

Dean walked heavily to the bathroom, leaning on the doorjamb, crossing his arms. He raised an expectant eyebrow at Castiel.

“I can’t,” he murmured, and then cleared his throat. “I can’t get my hair to look...fancy.” His shoulders slumped.

Dean snorted, chuckling into his shoulder. “Cas, man...your hair is never gonna look ‘fancy’. I’d be surprised if your hair could even resemble flat.”

Castiel glared at him. “Dean, you aren’t helping me.”

Dean only shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Just leave it. Anyways, it’s sexy.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Sexy?”

The cough that Dean choked out sounded more like a concealed, _shit_. “Uh. Yeah, sexy. Uh...chicks dig it.”

“And men?”

Dean coughed again. “Uh, yeah. Dudes do too.” with that, he turned and left the bathroom, stiff backed and awkward. A moment later, Castiel heard the jangling of his keys. “I’ll see you after your date, Cas; I’m going out!”

Dean drove ten over the speed limit to get to the bar that Benny worked at. On a Friday night, the place was crowded and loud, effectively drowning out Dean’s invasive thoughts. Within five minutes, he’d caught Benny’s eye and a whiskey slid right in front of him. His hand snapped out to catch the glass just before some of the amber liquid sloshed over the edge. He downed the shot quickly, tapping the glass against the bar to get Benny’s attention for another.

“You channeling your inner alcoholic tonight, brother?” Benny filled his glass again.

“Cas is on a date tonight.”

Benny raised an eyebrow, and turned to tend to his other patrons before saying, “and not with you, apparently.”

“Nope,” he said, popping his lips.

“So you’re going to drink yourself into a stupor so that you don’t have to think about the man of your dreams running around with a harlot.”

“Yup,” he popped his lips again.

Benny shook his head, filling Dean’s glass again. “You’re a mess, man. Cup of water between every three, and I’ll let you stay as long as you like.”

At Rizzini’s, Castiel sat stiffly across from Meg as she delicately cut into her steak, dipping it into one of the three sauces her dish came with. She finished chewing what she had in her mouth, then asked, “are you not hungry, Clarence?”

He had ordered a vegetable lasagna, reminiscent of a dish that Dean had made him on one stormy night over the summer. The dish had similar flavors to the one that Dean made, but it was made more professionally, less with a love of cooking. It made his heart ache in a way that it hadn’t ached in a long time.

“No, I am...savoring my meal.”

“I wish you’d savor me.”

“Meg, I-”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” she paused to take a bite of her steak again. “You don’t bat for my team. Doesn’t mean a girl can’t try.”

Castiel blinked at her. “Actually, yes. It does. I made it clear that I am not romantically interested in you and you all but harassed me until I agreed to go on a date with you.”

Meg pouted dramatically, stabbing at her salad. “Aw, don’t be mean. I didn’t harass you.;"

Castiel leveled her with a sharp look. "You spent nearly all of your breaks following me around the building flirting with me, even after I told you repeatedly that I wasn't interested."

She only shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a persistent gal."

Castiel speared another bite of his lasagna. "That's one word for it," he muttered.

Meg stuck her tongue out at him. "I only wanted to see how Mr. Smith would react. He's taken an extreme liking to you."

Castiel paused in the middle of his next bite. "... He has?"

Meg snorted. "Uh, yeah! Have you not noticed?"

Castiel shrugged a bit.

"The man moved you into his _home_. He more than happily did that and I swear I've caught him daydreaming in the middle of more meetings than I can count."

"That doesn't mean anything," he protested quietly. "He's been very hospitable..."

Meg giggled to herself. "I can guarantee you he wants to be more than hospitable, if you catch my gist."

Castiel sighed. "You're mistaken, Meg. I'll leave it at that."

About twenty more minutes into their meal, Castiel's phone vibrated incessantly in his pocket. As he took it out to read the screen, Meg groaned. "Clarence don't you know it's rude to answer your phone at the table?"

"It's Dean," he murmured. "Hello?"

 _Hey Cas. It's Benny. Sorry to bother you, I know you're on a date._ "No, no its okay. What's wrong? Did something happen?" _Well, Dean is about three sheets to the wind right now. I took his keys from him but he's going to need someone to come an get him. I don't want to make a cab driver suffer._

Castiel sighed in understanding. "I can be there in forty minutes. Thank you for letting me know, Benny."

"So what, now you're just ditching me?" Meg complained.

Castiel shrugged his jacket on. “It’s nothing personal, Meg. My deepest apologies. Something has come up that I must attend to. I am so sorry. I’ll pay for my half of the ticket. I’ll see you at work on Monday, please don’t be upset with me.” He hastily left the table, flagging down their waitress  and impatiently tapping his foot as she rang him out, giving him a dirty look for abandoning his date not even halfway through the night.

He merely ignored her, sweeping outside and hailing a taxi with a sharp whistle and an impatient wave. He quickly told the driver where he was headed and that it was an emergency so could he please step on it?

It was exactly a forty minute drive. Castiel leapt out of the car and threw a wad of bills at the cabbie, yelling his thankyou behind him. He couldn’t help but be slightly worried. In all of his months staying with Dean, he’d never seen him drunk. Even the night that they went to the bar with Charlie and Sam, Dean paced himself, drinking a soda or a water between drinks.

Three sheets to the wind? That just didn’t sound like Dean.

Upon entering the bar though, Castiel could very apparently tell that it was Dean. Dean was leaning lazily against the bar, laughing boisterously at something another patron had said. However, the other patron didn’t look like he was telling a joke. He looked rather...pissed.

As Castiel edge closer, he heard the man say, “fuck off, faggot,” before shoving Dean away from him. Dean stumbled into a table behind him and fire lit up in his eyes.

“What’d you call me?” he snapped, though it was more of a slur.

Castiel lurched forward, unwilling to see to finish the bar fight that was unraveling before his eyes. “Dean!” he yelled over the clamor of the bar.

Dean’s head jerked and his eyes focused, a smile growing on his face. “Cas! You made it! Benny...Benny said you’d...he said that,” his sentence trailed off and he finally exclaimed, “you’re here!”

“Yes, Dean. I am,” he soothed. “Let’s go home.”

“He yours?” the man that Dean had been laughing at stalked up to Castiel.

Castiel tilted his chin up. “As a matter of fact, yes he is. I’ll be taking him home. I apologize for any inconvenience his intoxication may have caused you.”

The man sneered. “Yeah? Just keep your boyfriend on a tighter leash, alright?”

Castiel pursed his lips, walking himself and Dean back to the bar. “Benny,” he called.

Benny whirled, the relief apparent on his face. “Cas! Thank God you’re here. I was afraid I’d have to lock him away in the back.”

Castiel frowned. “How often does he drink this much?”

Benny sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face,scratching at his beard. “Not often. Fella’s got a lot on his mind tonight, that’s all.”

“I’ll take care of him.”

“Please do,” Benny said, throwing the Impala’s keys to Castiel. “Make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit or something.”

Castiel’s stomach turned violently at the thought and he could only nod at Benny as he herded Dean outside of the bar.

Dean was singing something under his breath as he staggered to the passenger side of the car. It sounded suspiciously like _Wild Horses_. He leaned over the center of the bench seat to pull Dean’s belt over his waist, and Dean swayed dangerously closed to him. he could smell the alcohol on his breath, the cigar musk and cloying scent of the bar clinging to his skin. It was heady, and Castiel froze for a moment, his eyes locked with Dean’s, electric blue frozen on emerald green.

“Cas?” Dean whispered, his voice oddly clear.

Castiel jerked away, tugging for his own seatbelt and starting the car up. “Let’s go home, Dean,” he sighed.

Halfway to the apartment, Dean murmured, “I’m sorry I ruined your date.”

Castiel shook his head. “You didn’t ruin anything, Dean. I didn’t even want to go.”

Dean cocked his head. “Then why did you even go?”

The car filled with silence for at least two minutes before Castiel whispered, “the last date I went on was when I was seventeen,” he paused. “It’s nice to know that I’m still...desired.”

The rest of the drive was entirely silent, save for Dean’s quiet humming of _Wild Horses_ under his breath.

Castiel helped Dean into the elevator, keeping him from swaying over onto his face or sliding down the wall. He wish he’d had the mind to ask how many drink Dean had consumed, but he was more concerned about ensuring they could spend the night at home, not paying off Dean’s bail.

He helped Dean take his clothes off, save for his boxers, and brush his teeth. He managed to get Dean to take two ibuprofen and drink some water too. All in all, he’d consider himself successful at ensuring Dean wouldn’t have too gruesome of a hangover in the morning.

Castiel navigated Dean to the edge of his bed and the the covers up, gently pushing him down so that he was sitting. Dean looked at Castiel, his eyes still kind of glassy, but wide. “I’m quitting my job on Monday,” he said quietly. “You’re desirable to me,” and then leaned forward to kiss Castiel.

Their lips met in a gentle slip slide, Castiel’s chapped lips molding easily to fit Dean’s moist ones. Time froze for a split second and he could taste the alcohol and minty sharpness of toothpaste on Dean’s mouth. And then he jerked away, backing into the wall.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he choked out, leaving the room hastily.

 _Dean had kissed him._ Holy shit, _Dean had kissed him_. His heart was thundering in his chest, euphoria clawing its way up his throat. It was nice, gentle...but it felt so wrong at the same time. He had a sinking feeling it had just been the alcohol speaking, and not actually Dean.

_Oh Heavens, please don't let this ruin things._

* * *

 

Dean woke up feeling like he’d slept with a sock in his mouth. His head was throbbing righteously and his lips felt cracked and dry. He didn’t get that drunk very often. In fact, the last time he’d gotten that drunk was years ago, right after Sam had passed his bar exam and had come up to celebrate. Charlie had to drive them home, but at least that time he hadn’t been nursing a hangover by himself.

Speaking of driving home...he could vaguely recall the drive home last night. Panic grasped his heart before a brief memory flickered behind his eyelids of Castiel carefully maneuvering the Impala out of the parking lot and into the road, carefully parking it when they got back to the apartment. He allowed himself to calm down and breathe, grateful that Castiel had known how to handle his beast of a car.

Dean swung himself out of bed. Huh. He couldn’t remember taking his clothes off. He slipped a robe over his shoulders and tied it loosely around his hips. Maybe Castiel would be amenable to making a hangover breakfast. He could really go for some French toast, eggs, and, bacon.

He found Castiel out in the living room, drinking coffee and reading one of Dean’s Vonnegut books on the couch. His feet were tucked up underneath him, a thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The sight made Dean’s heart squeeze a little bit, and he couldn’t quite put his fingers on why.

“Morning Cas,” he grunted.

Castiel jolted, nearly dumping his coffee in his lap. “Good morning Dean,” he replied, his voice slightly higher than normal.

Dean paused on his way to the kitchen. “Um, you’re not getting sick again, are you? One trip to the hospital a year is my quota.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “No, no, I’m not sick. How are you feeling? How’s your head?”

“I feel like there’s a jackhammer in my brain,” he laughed. “I’m not sick though, so that’s a bonus. How do you feel about making some hangover food?”

“..H-hangover food?” Castiel asked hesitantly.

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s usually something greasy-breakfast food, always-and it soaks up the alcohol and shit.”

Castiel shrugged. “That sounds good to me.” He slowly uncurled from the couch, dropping the blanket to follow Dean into the kitchen.

For some reason, cooking breakfast together this morning was different from every other morning that they had done it. Castiel was stiff and quiet, laughing only quietly at the little puns Dean made here and there. When Dean leaned around Castiel to help him move the bacon around and keep it from burning, Castiel shifted just slightly out of his grasp, moving away from him.

Finally, when they had sat down to eat, Dean blurted, “Cas what the fuck? Did I do something last night? Because I know I can be an asshole sometimes when I’m drunk but I’m going to need you to tell me what exactly it is that I did so that I can apologize for it.”

Castiel took a small bite of his French toast, chewing it slowly. “You don’t remember,” he said quietly after a moment or two.

Dean slumped. “No man, I don’t.”

They finished their meal in silence, Castiel’s mind whirling. Should he tell him? should he shrug it off? Should he laugh about it? Tell him how much it hurt knowing that Dean apparently only desired him while intoxicated?

They hadn’t exchanged anymore words by the time they finished eating and were cleaning up. As Castiel went to wash the pan they used, Dean grabbed his wrist with a gentle hand. “Castiel,” he said quietly. “I need you to tell me what the hell I did.”

Castiel bit his lip, looking at the floor before meeting Dean’s eyes again. “You...you kissed me.”

The words acted as a punch to Dean’s subconscious, every memory from the night before flying back at him with a fierceness he’d never experienced. He remembered hitting on that guy at the bar, getting called a faggot and gearing up to hit the man when castiel burst into the bar, like a suited up knight. He remembered Castiel holding him up so that he could brush his teeth over the sink, and patiently undressing him, continually swatting Dean’s hands away when he kept trying to pull of his boxers. He remembered sitting on his bed and staring into Castiel’s sad blue eyes, wondering why they hadn’t looked any happier even though he had a home know. He remembered making a quick decision and leaning forward to capture Castiel’s lips with his own in gentle kiss that rivaled all other kisses he’d ever had in his life.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “ _Fuck_. Cas...I’m so sorry. I...I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, that’s the last thing I wanted. I understand if you want to find somewhere else to stay, I didn’t...I didn’t mean to-”

Castiel tilted his head, his hair falling slightly over his face. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Dean,” he explained.

It felt like the breath had been knocked from Dean’s lungs. “You mean...you don’t-you don’t regret it?”

That same sadness he’d recalled seeing in Castiel’s eyes the night before filled them again. “My only regret is that you weren’t sober. I had no idea if you were being genuine, or if that’s just how you act when intoxicated.”

Dean had to remind himself to breathe. Was this really happening? “Well...I’m sober now. I could...I could prove to you. I could prove how genuine I was. Am.”

Castiel’s breath hitched in his throat. “That...that would be incredibly helpful. Please do.”

It felt as though the air between them were charged. Dean reached up to gently cup Castiel’s face in one hand, curling his fingers into the short hairs at the back of his neck. “I can do that,” he murmured, bringing Castiel’s face to his own.

Their lips met slowly at first, carefully. An exploratory touch to begin with. Dean’s other hand found Castiel’s other cheek so that he could hold his face more firmly, kiss him harder. Their lips slid together in such a way that reminded Dean of dancing, their mouths opening slowly under each other. He licked gently at Castiel’s upper lip and reveled at the shudder he felt run down Castiel’s body.

Castiel met his cautious lick with an aggressive one of his own. As Dean inhaled, Castiel licked into his mouth, their tongues meeting leisurely, tangling, tasting one another. It was a tantalizing give and take, a gently push pull motion between the two of them that was very quickly leaving Dean breathless.

Finally, after what felt like hours, but a quick glance at the oven clock told him it had only been a few minutes, Dean pulled away, resting his forehead against Castiel’s.

Castiel, in a manner that was far too cute for his own good, continued leaning in, chasing more. Their lips met in tiny pecks, soft kisses that neither of them wanted to stop. Castiel gave a quiet sigh and finally pulled away from Dean, opening his eyes to reveal lust darkened blue eyes, bright and clear.

“Oh,” he breathed. “I think...you proved your point.”

“Did I?” Dean murmured.

“Mhmm,” Castiel hummed quietly. He didn’t know what to say from there, what more he could do. Lust had curled darkly in his abdomen, egging him on, demanding to satiate itself. But beside it was the gentle desire to just kiss Dean all day long, learn the curves of his lips and shape of his tongue against his own. The feelings were battling one another harshly and Castiel found himself lost at the war within him. It’d been so long since he’d felt such desire so strongly. Usually he was able to squelch the feelings, bury them with work or another case.

But the source of his desire also hadn’t been standing right in front of him, tenderly holding his face, staring back with large pupils and sparkling green eyes.

“You told me you were quitting your job next week,” he said, instead of giving in to one of the feelings raging for domination within him.

Dean’s grin in response allowed the lust to dissipate and he felt his own grin grow on his face, trying desperately to match the one on Dean’s face. “Yeah. That was also genuine.”

“What brought it on?” Castiel asked, disentangling himself from Dean, turning to get back to the dishes they had stopped washing.

Dean moved with him, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s neck and dropping a small kiss behind his ear. “I’m sick of Adler. I never wanted to go into financial, did I ever tell you that?”

Castiel hummed. “No, you’ve never shared that with me. So why are you?”

Dean kissed his neck again, feeling Castiel’s body tense and shiver the slightest bit. “My dad died right before I graduated high school. He was always pointing out that my math grades were higher than anything else. And he told me ‘kid, you got something there. Go for it. You’ll find success in those numbers. Take care of Sammy with ‘em,’”, his voice got lower, imitating his father. “So that’s what I did.”

“What did you initially want to do?” Castiel asked, scrubbing vigorously at the pan.

“I wanted to be a NASCAR mechanic,” he replied. “I love working on cars. Taking ‘em apart. Putting ‘em back together. Fixing ‘em up.”

“NASCAR mechanics make good money,” Castiel reasoned.

“Yeah, but not as good as finance analysts. So I did that instead. Sandover hired me when I was twenty-three. I went from working three jobs-waiter, math tutor and bank teller- to having one full time gig with benefits. The whole nine.”

“So it was worth it?”

“At the time, yeah it was. But...I’ve been there for nearly eleven years. What do I have to show for it?”

Castiel’s reply got drowned out by the series of rapid knocks on the door to the apartment. He frowned. “Were you expecting someone today?”

Dean shook his head slowly. “No, I wasn’t. And Charlie never bothers with knocking...I’ll be right back.”

Castiel frowned. Curiosity got the better of him and he dried his hands, following Dean into the entryway. Dean opened the door and a familiar voice greeted him. “Hello, handsome. Care to tell me where my baby cousin is?”

Castiel’s jaw dropped and he walked quickly into the doorway, nearly viciously shoving Dean out of the way. “Gabriel?” he squeaked. “What the hell are you doing here?"

* * *

 

This, by far, had to be the most awkward family reunion Dean had ever inadvertently been a part of. It even topped the one family party his girlfriend of one month had brought him to when he was nineteen.

Gabriel sat in the armchair while Dean Castiel sat together on the couch. Each of them held their own cup of coffee that none of them were actually drinking. Castiel couldn’t take his eyes off his cousin. It didn’t seem real, that he was actually here. The last time that he had seen his cousin was on the day that he graduated high school. He’d spiked the punch at his party with so much rum that none of their relatives could drive home until two am, and there was nothing his parents could do about it because he no longer lived with them anymore.

“Sooo,” Gabriel drawled. “This is awkward and all but I did show up here for a reason, you know.”

“What’s that?” Dean asked darkly. He didn’t like the way that Castiel was looking, sort of as though he’d seen a ghost he’d all but forgotten about. The color had drained from his face the moment he recognized Gabriel and it still hadn’t come back.

Gabriel shrugged. “Welp. I’m aware that your brothers, my oh-so-lovely other cousins have essentially disowned you.”

“They didn’t disown me,” Castiel growled. “They kicked me out and threatened me if I even so much as thought about coming back to them. I lost _everything_.”

Gabriel shrugged, taking a pull of his coffee. “Well, it was that or turn into someone Uncle Chuck would have hated, right?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “You speak as though you’ve experienced it.”

Gabriel straight up laughed at that, nearly spilling his coffee on himself. “No! Close, but no. Right about the time of your graduation, I ditched the family. I’ve got my own bakery and candy store in downtown San Diego. No law school for this ragamuffin!”

“I envy you,” Castiel deadpanned.

“Anyways,” Gabriel stopped laughing. “Anyways...I found you because there’s some rumors in the family rumor mill. And they concern you.”

“Such as?”

“Raphael and Uriel sending out a hitman for you. They found out you’re living here all swanky with your pretty rich boyfriend and to be frank, they’re kind of pissed.” He said it so calmly, as though he were speaking about something as benign as the weather or a football game, not Castiel’s _life_.

“Hitman?” he and Dean gasped at the same time.

“Yeah, hitman,” Gabriel repeated. “Just thought you might want to know. Do with it what you will, but I can’t stand by and watch my family murder one another. Your father would have a conniption if he knew what they were planning.”

But Castiel wasn’t listening anymore. Fear and panic had gripped him from the inside out. They had found him.

He wasn’t safe here anymore.

* * *

 

 


	5. Little Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean,” he hissed, squeezing Dean’s hand nearly painfully. “Don’t...don’t make any sudden movements. Look in that mirror in the corner...up there.” Dean casually tilted his head, flicking his eyes to the mirror before cracking his neck and gazing back at the shelves in front of him. “I saw that man at the theater, Dean. And again on our way here. I think he’s following us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for the insane delay. I shouldn't have made a promise to update regularly. My mental health took an insane nosedive and I'm just barely back on my feet. But! Never fear. The fic is not abandoned, just had a slight hiatus. I'm working as hard as I can for all of you, please don't hate me.

Castiel was sure he’d just ruined Dean’s carpet by dropping hot coffee on it. He heard Dean lurch up to go and get something to clean it up, and he gave into the rage clawing harshly at him. He flew at Gabriel in a rage that couldn’t possibly parallel any kind of anger he’d felt in his life.

Before he realized it, his hands were wrapped around Gabriel’s throat, thumbs and fingertips digging in sharply. “How _dare_ you,” he growled. “How dare you come here and so nonchalantly, so _laid back_ , tell me that my own family is looking to _end my life_. What the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you?!”

“Hey!” Dean hollered, coming back into the living room, surprised to see Castiel straddling Gabriel, hands around his throat. “Cas, knock it off!” Castiel responded by only tightening his grip around his cousin’s throat, forcing Dean into action, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist and pulling him off of Gabriel.

“How _dare_ you!” Castiel shouted, fighting against Dean’s grip. “Did you want me to spend my last days in fear? Why not let me live in blissful ignorance, dammit!” he finally slumped into Dean’s grasp, body going lax as he shuddered and shook with full body sobs.

On the armchair, Gabriel was curled up, coughing and wheezing, trying to get oxygen back into his lungs. “What the fuck,” he choked. “Do you take me for a sadist?”

Dean glared at him, pulling Castiel back onto the couch, and gently laying him down on it before going to grab the cleaning supplies. “In all fairness, it was kind of a dick move. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done what he did, were I in his position.” He knelt down on the floor and began scrubbing at the spilled coffee. “So did you just come here so that he could spend his last days scared shitless, or do you have a purpose for all of this?”

Gabriel glared back at him. “Of fucking course I have a purpose for this you asshole. I would’ve been able to get that out if fucking Tazmanian Devil of there hadn’t tackled me!”

“You need to talk fast,” Dean said between clenched teeth. “Otherwise I’ll finish what he started. Besides, you probably should have led with your intentions rather than the bad news.”

Gabriel threw his hands in the air. “Oh that’s wise! Let’s threaten the man looking to give his cousin an out! Smart move.”

“Talk, or get out,” Castiel’s voice piped up from the couch. He was curled around one of the throw pillows, his eyes red and wide, hair mussed and damp from crying so hard. He looked small, much like a frightened child.

Gabriel coughed again, and then winced. “Okay. Hear me out. We go talk to them. Explain that they don’t want a murder on their hands that they have to cover up. Promise you’ll never go back to law, you’ll change your last name, never be associated with them again. How’s that sound?”

Dean swallowed, pausing in his scrubbing. “That sounds like the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Castiel whispered, rubbing at his face with his shirt sleeve. “I just...how are you going to prove you know anything?”

Gabriel gave a nearly demonic smile and pulled out his smartphone. He tapped the screen a few times and then threw it at Castiel. He caught it nimbly, and then pulled it down to him. On the screen were his brothers. The video image was gritty but the sound was crystal clear. He recognized Uriel’s voice nearly immediately.

_“Castiel Whettington? What the fuck kind of last name is that?”_

_“It’s a man named Donald Whettington. Castiel’s name pinged for me when this man added his name to his bank account._

_“Now that’s just odd. Why would our little Castiel be opening a bank account?”_

_“Do you think he got a job?”_

_“It seems likely…”_

_“What a flagrant display of disrespect. What do you suggest we do about it?”_

_“Eliminate him completely. He’ll do nothing but stir up trouble. His disappearance from the firm caused enough uproar, especially during the case he chose to leave.”_

_“Yes, brother. Shall we hire Tobias? We’ve used him before.”_

_“Yes. Get ahold of him immediately.”_

Castiel held his breath as the video filled with static and ended. His jaw had dropped halfway through and he looked up to meet Gabriel’s eyes. “What...how did you even get this?”

Gabriel grinned, rubbing tenderly at his neck. “Prank wars, dear cousin. I set up hidden cameras and mics in there for family reunions when Michael would sneak off with women who weren’t Kael. Needless to say, I’ve got plenty of blackmail on him, and then some. We could walk into ALF, request to see the three of them and then chat it out.

“Wait,” Dean grumbled. “Who is the ‘we’ here?”

“The three of us, of  course! You’re the reason Castiel is off the streets, something they never wanted. So...you need to come too. "

Dean sighed. "This is some bullshit. How is that going to make them stop?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Oh ye of little faith! They threw Cas here out on his ass because him leaving the firm was a big hooplah. So make him disappear entirely, and it's off their hands. All they care about is there name. If we threatened them with Michael's seven affairs and Raphael's temper tantrums..."

"Then they would just kill us too," Dean reasoned, getting off the floor, satisfied with his stain cleaning job.

Gabriel groaned. "You seriously are a pessimist. I don't know how I feel about my cousin spending so much time with you.”

“Get over it,” Dean snarked back.

“They’re not going to kill us because three people suddenly going missing will be very suspicious, not to mention-”

“And if they kill us separately?” Castiel cut his cousin off.

“They won’t. I have this video saved on five different computers and orders for three people who don’t know each other to post the video on YouTube under different titles should they go a week without hearing from me.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been planning this for some time.” It wasn’t a question.

Gabriel shrugged. “I know it was like we abandoned you, but...you did a really good job hiding yourself, Castiel. So when I listened to this video, I found Donald Whettington, and then I watched Dean-o here bring you back here from Sandover more than once, so today was when I finally decided to make my move.”

Dean pursed his lips, crossing his arms. “So you didn’t think to lead with that, instead of letting us know Cas has a hitman on him?”

Gabriel shrugged a bit. “I mean, I guess I should have said that first.”

“Might have saved you from getting choked out,” Dean pointed out.

“Technicalities. So you’re in?”

Castiel and Dean looked at each other. Dean could see the blatant fear in Castiel’s eyes, but also the hope, that maybe soon, this could all be over. They looked back at Gabriel and nodded.

* * *

It was several hours before Dean and Castiel finally decompressed from Gabriel’s sudden visit. Castiel was still reeling that anyone in his family still cared about him enough to warn him of his brothers’ diabolical plan. Dean was still reeling that he could be mere hours from potentially losing a man that he was growing to care about more and more.

It was several hours before Dean and Castiel finally decompressed from Gabriel’s sudden visit. Castiel was still reeling that anyone in his family still cared about him enough to warn him of his brothers’ diabolical plan. Dean was still reeling that he could be mere hours from potentially losing a man that he was growing to care about more and more.

They sat together at the dining room table, the silence between them thick and palpable. Castiel held a mug of tea between his hands, but couldn't bring himself to drink it. Dean stared hard at his own tea, wishing it'd turn into whiskey.

“So what now?” Castiel finally asked, his voice quiet.

Dean looked up at him, Castiel’s blue eyes boring into his, worried and fearful. “Wanna make out?” he blurted.

Castiel’s eyes widened impossibly and next thing Dean knew, he’d lunged across the table and right into his lap. Dean caught him, startled as the chair he was in tilted slightly backwards and he threw himself forward to compensate for the loss of balance. He wrapped his arms tightly around Castiel, trying to pull him ever closer as their tongues met in a gentle caress that seemed out of place with the viciousness he’d been attacked with.

Castiel was kissing Dean with everything that he had. He felt himself getting lightheaded at the lack of breathing but only pressed harder into Dean, trying to give him everything. It felt as though they were meeting each other all over again, in a new light that wasn’t the dim and flickering lights of the shower hall. They were seeing each other in the light of lust and desire and Castiel couldn’t keep his hands away. They roamed everywhere that they could reach. Dean’s chest, his neck, his ears, his shoulders.

Dean held onto Castiel with a near painful grip, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, nails tearing roughly at the threads.  
“Dean,” Castiel gasped, his head dropping back. Dean took the opportunity to latch onto the side of his neck, licking feverishly and nibbling lightly. Castiel keened and leaned back even more, allowing Dean access to the entire side of his neck and the lobe of his ear. The heat of Dean’s breath on his neck was warming up his entire body. He fumbled around for a moment and found Dean’s belt buckle, struggling to get it undone.

Dean pushed him away though, a little harder than he originally wanted to. “Whoa, Cas,” he grunted, holding him at arms length. “Slow down, man...we don’t have any reason to hurry.”

“Yes, we do,” Castiel growled, fighting against Dean’s grasp. “My brothers are planning to kill me, or did you conveniently forget about that part?”

Dean sighed, wrapping his hands lightly around Castiel’s wrists. “And that’s exactly why I’m in no hurry.”

“You don’t want me?” Castiel’s voice was so meek, so disheartened that it hurt Dean’s heart, his breath catching in his throat. He slid his hands down Castiel’s wrists to catch his fingers, intertwining them.

“Jesus, Cas, of course I want you. God, I’ve wanted you for too damn long now. But I refuse to let our first time together to be some hasty, fear-induced romp. I want it to count.”

Castiel dropped his head back, groaning dramatically before snapping up to meet Dean’s eyes again. “Dean Smith, I do not need to be romanced.”

Dean smirked. “Get over it. I’m romancing you.”

They ended up sleeping together in Dean’s room that night, cuddled closely, legs tangled, arms wrapped around one another, their breath mingling, minty sweet. Castiel buried his face into Dean’s neck, his eyes squeezed shut, as though he could force himself to forget the days events. Fear wound itself through Dean’s insides like a thick thread of twine. If he held Castiel a little too tightly that first night together, then who was to know?

Waking up felt like the previous day had never actually happened. There was no surprise visit from Gabriel, no news of his family attempting to kill him; just Dean’s eyes blinking blearily at him, face creased with sleep. He got to watch the realization dawn across Dean’s face; the fact that he was there, they were there together, snug in each other’s arms. He watched the small smile grow into a full grin as Dean leaned forwards to give him a light, closed-mouth kiss.

“Good morning,” his voice was raspy.

“Good morning,” a shy smile graced Castiel’s face in his reply.

Dean’s eyes seemed to darken only slightly, but it was enough to cause the stress of the previous day to come crashing down on Castiel in a single heartbeat. Something must have shown on his face because Dean reached forward and pressed a soft kiss to Castiel’s forehead, soothing the small frown that had grown there, and murmured, “stop that. Don’t do that. It is far too early. How do egg sandwiches for breakfast sound?”

A small smile graced his face. “That sounds divine, Dean.”

He played Led Zeppelin on the kitchen radio and sang into the spatula, just to see that minute smile cross Castiel’s face again and again.

How long had it been that he’d done something for someone else that simultaneously made him happy as well? He fought to remember as he turned the eggs over and delicately placed a slice of cheese over each, careful of the bacon sizzling at the sides.

The memory hit him like a slap as he placed the plates at the table. It had been when he and Sam had snuck into a teeny bopper band show at the theater back in Kansas. Sam had been whining about it all week long so when John go called into work at eight, he raised an eyebrow at Sam and told him to put his shoes on.

They’d snuck in through a broken chainlink fence and an open staff door in the back. They'd hidden behind the soundboard equipment, mere meters away from the band. Sam had been so happy he was crying. Dean may or may not have had to swipe some tears from his face as well. They snuck back home around midnight, only twenty five minutes before John got home. Dean laid in bed with Sam as he babbled excitedly about how cool that was and how he'd remember it for the rest of his life.

Dean wondered if he did.

They ate their breakfast quietly, their thoughts weighing on them to a point that the silence was nearly painful.

They were staring at their empty plates when Castiel said, “Dean,” shocking him out of his thoughts. “Can we go see a movie today? I...I haven’t seen a movie in years.”

Dean’s heart melted and he smiled a bit as he gathered their dishes. “Sure we can, Cas. Go look on Fandango and find one you like while I clean up.” A plan was building in his head, not a devious one, but one that would hopefully make this a day to remember for Castiel.

Castiel came back from his room, raving about a disaster flick that had just come out, earthquakes ravaging the west coast so badly even the east coast felt it. The reviews were all above six and, did he know that Castiel hadn’t had movie theater popcorn in over five years?

They took their respective showers quickly, Dean ignoring his boner in favor of Castiel pleading with him not to use up all of the hot water.

_If only they could use it up together..._

He shook the thought from his head and finished soaping up. Until Gabriel sorted his shit out, they were going to have the time of their lives this weekend.

* * *

The movie was awful. It was horrific, with campy acting and too many displaced explosions. But Dean and Castiel made their way through a large popcorn and a half, and two large slushees. They left the theater snickering, and Castiel complaining of a slight stomach ache.

Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand and held it tightly between his own. “The night’s still young,” he said. “Let’s walk to the grocery store before going home. I want to make something special for dinner tonight.”

Castiel squeezed his hand in return. “Dean, that’s very thoughtful of you but I swear if I eat anything else, I may burst. It’s been a long time since I’ve snacked so compulsively.”

Dean only laughed. “Don’t worry. It’ll take a little while to marinate and a little while to cook. You ought to be fine, so long as you don’t eat anymore of that popcorn, you fiend.”

“I couldn’t tell you why…” he trailed off as they walked, something catching the corner of his eye. It was a tall, dark man, wrapped in a fur-lined trenchcoat. He had on thick sunglasses, and a heavy-looking briefcase in his hand. He had shiny gold jewelry that occasionally caught the sunlight in it, throwing rainbows. Castiel could briefly recall seeing the man in the movie theater. He second-guessed himself as the man turned and ducked into another store on the street.

“Why, what?” Dean asked, tugging Castiel’s hand lightly.

He shook his head. “There’s something in that butter topping, I swear. Like...cocaine, maybe.”

Dean only snorted as they turned into the grocery store, the doors rushing open creating a refreshing breeze as they stepped inside.

They shopped quietly, Dean humming to himself every couple of minutes, pausing to ponder at the contents of the shelves. His basket was soon filled with chicken breasts, an assortment of fresh herbs and vegetables and an array of expensive condiments. Any time that Castiel tried to ask him what he’d be making, he got a quick “shh!” and a frustrated hand wave. He thought it was funny and rolled his eyes, and the froze, panic setting into his bones like ice.

“Dean,” he hissed, squeezing Dean’s hand nearly painfully. “Don’t...don’t make any sudden movements. Look in that mirror in the corner...up there.” Dean casually tilted his head, flicking his eyes to the mirror before cracking his neck and gazing back at the shelves in front of him. “I saw that man at the theater, Dean. And again on our way here. I think he’s following us.”

“Maybe he’s just making dinner after a movie...kind of like we are.”

Castiel bit back the urge to cry. “Dean, dammit, he is following us, would you listen to me?”

Dean stretched dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Baby, trust me,” he said loudly. “I know what I’m doing.” He grabbed the block of cheese in front of them and looped his arm through Castiel’s. “Let’s go home, I promise it’ll be good.” He gave him a big wink as they walked to the cash register.

Castiel nearly screamed at Dean trying to fight the growing panic in him but then he saw the cool determination in Dean’s eyes, hidden by his playful expression. He watched Dean glance at the mirrors on the way to the register every so often, keeping an eye on trenchcoat as he followed them. He had a box of shake ‘n bake in hand. He checked out a few registers behind them and Castiel had to fight not to turn around and make direct eye contact.

They walked back to the Impala in tense silence and slow steps. Dean could occasionally see trenchcoat man in his peripheral, on the other side of the street, steps slow and steady. “He looks like a pimp,” he murmured.

Castiel smacked his arm. “First of all, that is a major racial stereotype. Second of all, do you think he _wants_ us to know he’s following us? That get up is…”

“Conspicuous. So yes, I’d say he wants us to know. Maybe it’s a warning from your oh-so-lovely brothers.”

“I doubt they’d send a warning. They’re not the type to play with their food, Dean.”

“Well that was an incredibly insetuous statement,” Dean snorted. They’d arrived back at the Impala and he tossed the groceries in the back seat before sitting down and buckling up.

Castiel hurled himself into the car to smack Dean on the shoulder. “You’re disgusting!”

“And you’re being a pessimist on our first date. Let’s go home and have a good dinner and then rut like horny teenagers on the couch til it’s time to go to bed.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow and bit back a grin. “I thought you were going to romance me, Mr. Smith?”

Dean snorted. “I am romancing you! I’m making you dinner first, aren’t I?”

The man in the fur-lined trench coat was quickly forgotten as they drove back to the apartment and began the dinner-making process. Dean quickly set to chopping the herbs and shooed Castiel into the living room. “It isn’t as romantic if you’re part of the process, Cas,” he apologized ruefully.

He carefully rolled the chicken breasts in the herbs while squeezing lemon into a pan with garlic and butter, and setting potatoes to boil. He heard Castiel put on some jazz in the other room, and smiled. He was probably settling down to read a book and wait for him, as he often did on nights that Dean cooked them dinner. Castiel still wasn’t very adept in the kitchen, managing to melt spatulas and burn the butter. Dean didn’t want to risk their dinner getting overcooked or spilled onto the floor.

He wanted the night to prove to Castiel that he was cared about, and that he mattered, despite what his brothers were making him think.

It took an hour for dinner to cook. Castiel had finished two more chapters in the book he was reading by the time that Dean called him into the kitchen.

The sight that greeted him caused his mouth to fall open. A deep red tablecloth now doned the table, candles in the center of it, throwing flickering gleams of light every which way. Their plates were loaded with some of the most fragrant, delicious food he'd ever seen, even as a defense attorney eating at five star restaurants four days out of the week.

Dean carefully pulled out a chair and gestured to it. "Told you I'd romance you," He winked at Castiel as he said into the seat. He sat down at the other side and flipped a napkin into his lap.

"So we have herb crusted chicken, sautéed garlic kale and smashed potatoes with butter and dill."

If Castiel's mouth was watering before that, now he was downright drooling. "Dean," he breathed.

"Dig in!" Dean interrupted him and held up his fork in invitation.

Castiel delicately sliced through the chicken, and the more he cut, the more of the delicious fragrance wafted up to him. He took a small bite, and the flavor exploded across his tongue. Basil, oregano, thyme.

“Try it with the mashed potatoes,” Dean suggested quietly.

He eagerly sliced another piece of chicken and dipped it into the mashed potatoes and popped it in his mouth. The flavors blended with a rich buttery cream, the tang of just enough garlic and he couldn’t help the soft moan from between closed lips.

“Dean, this is…”

Interrupting him, Dean thrust a forkful of kale forward between Castiel’s lips and he ate that too. It was crunchy and well-cooked, sauteed to perfection. “Dean,” he started again. “This is far too good. I knew you could cook but…this is just...just,”

“Delectable?”

He laughed at Dean’s playful arrogance, and nodded.

They didn’t speak much over dinner, only meeting each other’s eyes every couple of minutes. When Castiel ate his last bite of potatoes, Dean spoke up again.

“So, uh, I was going to make dessert but then I decided...I dunno,” he scratched his neck a little bit. “Maybe we could have something else for dessert?

Castiel’s eyes widened. “Oh?” he breathed. Dean only nodded, a faint blush rising up his neck. “I’ll get the dishes.”

Dean got up with him, though, and with the two of them, they were cleaned, dried, and put away in less than fifteen minutes--not nearly enough time for Dean to sort out his thoughts and determine if this was the right way to go.

But Castiel didn’t care about that. Dean had already said it, and he wasn’t about to let him back out of it. He gently pushed Dean against the countertop, resting his hands on either side of Dean’s hips, caging him there. He ran his nose along the column of Dean’s throat, inhaling the faint tinge of sweat, the scents of the herbs he’d been using and a hint of the cologne he’d sprayed on this morning.

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat as Castiel brought his tongue to the skin to taste. He could feel Castiel’s lips against his neck form a smile before his tongue got back to work, dragging gently over his throat, his teeth joining the party after a few moments, stopping to nibble every couple of centimeters.

Faintly, Dean was telling himself that this wasn’t how the evening was meant to go. He was supposed to be the one seducing Castiel, not the other way around! Before he could think anything else, Castiel’s tongue traced the shell of his ear, his breath hot, sending a shiver tingling down Dean’s spine. “Thank you for dinner,” he murmured. “It was….delightful.”

Dean shuddered. “N-no problem, Cas. It was my pleasure.”

Against his neck, Castiel chuckled. “And now it’s my turn.”

With no time to think, Castiel had moved, gracefully capturing Dean’s lips with his own. Dean’s breath left him with a gasp, and Castiel took the opportunity to caress his tongue with his own. He swallowed Dean’s moan and carefully pulled him from the counter, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Dean had no idea how Castiel was able to navigate them through the apartment, their mouth attached the entire time, all the way to his bedroom. He shoved Dean back against his own bed and that’s when Dean came back to his senses, as he flopped down over his comforter.

“Whoa, Cas,” he gasped. “Slow down, man. I just...I want to enjoy you.”

“Let me enjoy _you_ , Dean,” he replied. “Please.”

And really, what was Dean supposed to say to that?

Ever so carefully, Castiel removed Dean’s clothes, and then slowly removed his own. He watched the twitch in Dean’s fingers, a though her were trying to restrain himself from reaching out. It made a taunting smile grow over Castiel’s face. He lightly trailed a hand down Dean’s side, that vast expanse of smooth toned skin, his to drink up as he pleased.

With that thought, he leaned down and kissed somewhere close to Dean’s pectorals. Beneath him, Dean flinched the slightest bit, and then sighed. Castiel continued to kiss down and around his chest and stomach, leisurely enjoying his fantasies as they came to life beneath him.

He’d been sure he’d never be allowed to hold Dean, or have him sprawled out like this beneath him.

He was going to take advantage of it.

As he had removed Dean’s boxers, he fought the urge to look. He didn’t want to be interrupted during his first moment to see Dean completely bare. Now, though, he looked down the expanse of Dean’s chest, upon the small thatch of hair curling down his abdomen, and then…

His throat clicked as he swallowed. Unbidden, his mouth began to water. His fingers twitched. He wasn’t sure what to do, where to go from there.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was hesitant. Castiel looked up to see him propped up on his elbows, staring intently at Castiel, curiosity across his face. “Everything alright?”

Castiel didn’t answer at first, and instead opted to run a fingertip along Dean’s length. Dean’s arms gave out as he flopped back onto the bed, a long groan escaping him. “Everything is...perfect,” Castiel murmured.

He created a small loop between his thumb and forefinger, and with a small swipe of precome oozing from the tip of Dean’s cock, he quickly moved his fingers down to the base, and then back up. Dean’s back arched, and he let out a small hiccup of a cry.

Castiel repeated the motion, watching more precome drool out of the tip and run over his fingers. It was beautiful. The thought took his breath away for a moment.

Dean Smith, this rich man, was so wonderously beautiful and he couldn’t even see it. he’d given up his dreams to care for his brother, and if that wasn’t incredible, then what was?

This beautiful, kind-hearted man _wanted_ him.

With that thought, he slid to his knees between Dean’s leg, and took his dick into his mouth. The sound that it elicited caused a shiver to run from Castiel’s groin up his spine. It was intoxicating. The weight of Dean on his tongue, the salty tang of his flavor slicking down the back of his throat.

Castiel tongued up the thick vein along the side, relishing the shudder Dean’s whole body gave. He enthusiastically bobbed his head down, somewhat amazed at the realization that he could swallow Dean’s length entirely. Just as his nose brushed the thick thatch of hair, and the tip of Dean’s cock hit the back of his throat, Dean gave a hearty shout, his fists clenching the sheets nearly violently.

Castiel pulled back up. “Was that,” he cleared his throat. “Was that good?”

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean gasped. “Way to not tell a man you can deep throat!”

Castiel’s head cocked to the side and he licked down Dean’s dick again, unable to help himself. “I wasn’t aware it was a talent. I don’t have a gag reflex. It made having the stomach flu slightly bearable and unbearable all the same.”

“Please don’t discuss puking while you’re going down on me, I swear to God.”

So Castiel just reached down and swallowed Dean all the way again. Dean’s hips bucked and he choked for a moment, caught off guard. “Sorry, sorry,” Dean wheezed. “You don’t know how to warn a guy.”

Castiel ignored the comment and chose to suck his cheeks in just slightly and Dean choked on his words.

The teasing continued for a few more minutes before Dean tangled his fingers in Castiel’s hair and gently tugged. Castiel released the slight suction on his dick with a small ‘ _pop_ ’. Dean gasped. “Jesus, Cas you’re gonna end the party before it even gets started.” He tried to pull Castiel up, wanted to kiss him, to taste that mouth again, but Castiel flinched backwards.

“I just had my….on your...isn’t that?”

Dean only rolled his eyes and curled his hand around Castiel’s neck, tugging him downwards to allow their lips to meet in a soft kiss. Dean caressed Castiel’s tongue with his own, oddly delighted at being able to taste himself, ensuring that Castiel knew there was no issue with that.

In the middle of their making out, Dean’s hand was slowly making its way down Castiel’s side, soothing over lean muscle and soft skin. His hand skated over Castiel’s ass, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath skin before moving under and around to run a gentle hand over his dick.

Castiel’s whole body flinched, nearly causing Dean to bite his lip. “Sorry, sorry,” he gasped. Dean cut him off, kissing him again, licking into his mouth as he ran his hand over Castiel’s length.

Castiel shuddered, the warmth of Dean’s hand over him penetrating his whole body. “Don’t stop,” he mumbled against Dean’s mouth. Dean’s response was an absolutely feral grin as he wrapped his hand loosely around Castiel and gave a quick stroke. Castiel’s groan and buck of his hips made Dean let out a short huff of laughter.

He continued to languidly stroke Castiel’s dick until his knees gave out and he collapsed on top of Dean, forcing both of their dicks  together in a slick slide of precome and sweat. Dean hissed at the sensation, the sudden heat and wetness. He couldn’t help the sudden thrust of his hips. He nearly apologized, until Castiel pushed back too.

A frantic pace was set, without any thought behind it, and they were rutting against each other like teenagers in puberty. In only a few short minutes, Castiel’s breath was hitching wildly and he was humming under his breath, occasionally attempting to utter a word or two that would just dissolve into a moan.

And then with a loud cry, Castiel was coming over Dean’s stomach and chest. His whole body froze up, save for the stilted thrusts of his hips as he came. The feeling of Castiel’s come on him, _all over him_ , shot a surge of heat throughout Dean and with a shout, he was coming too, his body jerking with the force behind it.

For a few minutes, the only sound was their heavy breathing, the sticky squelch of their cocks against one another, come cooling and drying between them. Castiel finally moved to lay down next to Dean. “That was...that was,”

“That was fan-fucking-tastic. I’ve been wanting it for months.”

Castiel took a deep breath through his nose. “So why did you only kiss me when you were drunk?

Dean looked at him from the corner of his eye. “I brought you into my home, man. It took months to convince you that you owed me nothing for just feeding you. I didn’t want you to think like, sex was in exchange for living here. I wanted you to know I genuinely liked you for...you.” The words felt cheesy coming out of his mouth, but the weirdest thing was that he meant them from the bottom of his heart.

Castiel was smiling at him, that confused gleam in his eye. “You hardly knew me though?”

Dean laughed a little bit, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Yeah but. You were so damn cute and you didn’t even realize it. And the sounds you made while eating my food? Downright pornographic. And the little fit you threw for fleece sheets, and your weird obsession with kitten pictures on everything. Of course I came to like you, every little bit that you revealed, I only wanted you more.”

“Why, Dean,” Castiel said. “That was almost poetic.”

Dean shoved him a little bit. “Shuddup,” he grumbled. “I was just sayin’.”

It took them all of ten minutes to clean up and be back in bed. Castiel wrapped his arms and legs around Dean, pulling him to his chest. Dean grumbled for only a moment about being the little spoon before Castiel dropped the smallest of kisses to the back of his neck. they fell asleep like that, Castiel inhaling the scent of Dean’s hair, and Dean with his fingers wrapped around Castiel’s.

* * *

With Monday came the harsh  slap of reality again. Gabriel called Castiel while they were getting ready for work, with advice to be careful today, going out and about. The ride to Sandover was a bleak one, Dean’s favorite music bringing a bitter taste to his mouth. He couldn’t listen to Led Zeppelin when Castiel could possibly be on the brink of death.

Halfway there, Castiel cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So...um, are we...you know?”

Dean chuckled. “Dating?” Castiel nodded. “Well, I’d like to. How about it Cas? Wanna be my boyfriend?”

Castiel’s nose wrinkled. “I loathe that word. I will, however, be your partner.”

Dean shrugged. “I’ll take it.”

Leaving Castiel at the door to the janitorial staff room was nearly painful after having spent the weekend at his side. They parted with a quick kiss and a promise to see each other on their lunch break.

Things never worked out as planned though, did they?

Dean went straight to Adler’s office after dropping off Castiel and dropped his letter of resignation on the desk. Adler flinched and carefully read over it before looking at Dean and gawking. “Are you serious?” he finally asked.

“Absolutely,” Dean nodded.

“Is there any way I can convince you to stay?” Adler asked, clasping his fingers. “Any way at all?”

Dean shook his head. “Why would you?”

Adler looked slightly affronted. “Why, you’re our best analyst! It’d be a shame for this company to lose your work!”

Dean sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Exactly. My work, not me. My work is easily replaceable.”

Adler stuttered, searching for words. “But-you’ll never find a place to work that pays as handsomely as we do!”

Shrugging, Dean rolled his eyes. “That means nothing to me, Zachariah. I’m packing up my office this week.” With that, he turned and left the office.

He hadn’t bothered to say anything about the fact that Adler had done nothing in the ten years that Dean worked there to make him feel welcome or even remotely appreciated. He constantly had him under criticism and gave him some of the hardest working hours around.

There was no way that Dean could be there for another ten years.

Castiel had filled up his bin with garbage from the first floor and was making his way back to the janitorial staff room when it happened. He’d just stepped out of the elevator and begun to wheel the bin out.

There was a sharp prick in his neck and he flinched, crying out. Before he could turn to retaliate, his knees gave out beneath him. His vision grew dark, splotchy. “Wha…” the syllables died in his mouth. His last thought before he passed out entirely was,

_They got me, they finally got me._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings:  
> -handjobs  
> -blowjobs  
> -explicit sexual activity
> 
> Comments really fuel this fic so I appreciate all of them thank you!!!


	6. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He opened his eyes again to see Uriel sneering at him. “Give up yet, brother?” he taunted.  
> Castiel rolled his eyes. “I am so far from being your brother it must be impossible for you to comprehend.”

            When Castiel finally came to, it took him a few disorienting moments to recognize that he was blindfolded, and bound. He took a deep, unsteady breath. All around him was silence. He could hear the hum of something from one end of the room he was in, but aside from that; absolutely nothing. He rolled his neck a little bit, the pops jarring in the silence.

            “Ah, he’s awake.” Uriel’s voice. “Welcome back Castiel.” It’d help if he even had a remote idea where “back” was.

            “Traitor.” That was Raphael. “We cut you a break, gave you a deal and you just couldn’t listen, could you? You were always unruly, unable to follow orders."

            "I was better than all of you," he spat. That earned him a harsh slap across the face, so hard that his chair tilted at an angle for a moment.

            “Living with that Smith man has turned you cocky, hasn’t it? What if we went after him instead? And left you truly alone?”

            Castiel couldn’t help his full body flinch. He made sure his voice was strong when he said, “leave Dean out of this.”

* * *

 

            Donny didn’t see Castiel go downstairs for lunch, “hadn’t seen him since he began his rounds.”

            Dean was frantic. He had run all over the building, searching, just short of calling out his name. castiel was nowhere to be found. When he hadn’t showed up at the office for lunch, Dean figured he’d forgotten. But then Ella brought in both orders, and then came back to offer Dean a cup of coffee when she noticed he was still alone.

            Panic was setting in, heavy and overwhelming in the pit of his stomach. He’d only managed a few bites of his lunch before he went in search for Donny and Victor. They led him to the basement, if not to prove that Castiel might have just misinterpreted Dean’s lunch date and was waiting downstairs for him.

            Instead, what they found was his abandoned garbage bin and a long scuff mark across the wall. Once it hit Dean what he was looking at, he felt dizzy with fear. They got him. They got to Castiel.

            In a split second, clarity came roaring back to him and he fumbled for his phone, remembering that he’d gotten Gabriel’s number before he kicked him out. The phone rang three times before Gabriel answered with a relaxed, “y’ello?”

            “Gabe, he’s gone.”

            There was a pause, then a scuffle, Gabriel cursing under his breath. “Where’d they take him from, do you know?”

            It was hard for Dean to breathe, to focus. "He was...we were at work for barely an hour, I swear." Gabriel went quiet; all Dean could hear was his harsh breaths, and then a sigh. "I've got an idea. I'll be at your office in fifteen. Grab me something to eat from that place next door, we're gonna need it."

* * *

 

            "You don't understand, do you?" Raphael murmured quietly, tracing a finger down Castiel's jaw. With far too much gentleness, he removed the blindfold from Castiel's face, revealing his brother's dark eyes, clenched jaw. "You were the baby. You were supposed to be the loyal one, the one who didn't step out of line. You saw our mistakes; you should have learned from them."

            Castiel remained stubbornly silent, jerking his head away from Raphael's fingers. In retaliation, Raphael's fingers tightened around his chin, yanking Castiel's head back to face him. "You should have known better," he growled. "I should break your neck right here for being so defiant."

            Castiel sneered at him. "I will haunt you from the afterlife then. I will make you so miserable. You will feel the pain I felt, only tenfold. You'll know what it's like to sleep on wet concrete. You'll know what real terror feels like." his words were harsh, and it took every ounce of strength for him to say them with as much venom as he could muster. His body was shaking and he couldn't determine if it was due to fear or vehemence. Maybe it was a combination of the two.

            Raphael gave him an indecipherable look before stalking to the other side of the room. Castiel looked around, finally taking in his surroundings. The walls were concrete, nothing identifiable about them. There were tall windows, though, allowing Castiel to see that they were at the top of a building, the afternoon sun casting shadows across the floors. There was tarp cutting the room in half; it looked as though someone had started construction here and then changed their mind halfway through.

            So he was in a construction site. Got it. But where though? He wracked his brain, recalling the rounds he made around the city, trying to remember where he’d recently seen construction begin. There were so many potential places though; the city had just gotten a rush of funding to put up more apartment buildings and an office building downtown.

            Raphael’s laugh pulled him from his thoughts. “Don’t try so hard, Cassie. You’ll never figure out where you are.”

            “You forget you left me in these streets for two years,” he growled. “Do not underestimate my ability to know where I am.” He strained his ears, listening for the sounds beneath him, around the building. There was the constant flux of vehicles, but beneath that, there was more. There were people babbling. He could smell the cloying scent of tomato sauce that wafted up. So, they were near an Italian place. And then he heard, “hey! Those flowers aren’t yours! _Come back here_!”

            A florist and an Italian place. He was at the corner of Highland and Pine Grove. The building they’d taken him into was soon to be an office building for an up and coming insurance and computer security agency.

            He opened his eyes again to see Uriel sneering at him. “Give up yet, brother?” he taunted.

            Castiel rolled his eyes. “I am so far from being your brother it must be impossible for you to comprehend.”

            Raphael slapped him again, a harsh sting making its way down his jaw.

            “Are you done evil-monologuing yet? I’d really prefer it if you finished this sooner or later. But then again, maybe you’ll just bore me to death. That might work easiest, less messy, less news coverage. That’s what it’s always been about for you guys, hasn’t it?Except for the part that you let big time criminals off with a slap on the wrist.”

            Uriel’s sneer grew. “Admit it, you loved the payment though. Your bank account grew steadily. Wasn’t that addicting?”

            Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Not so much, no.”

            “Get on with it brother,” Raphael muttered. “Before his knight in shining armor notices he’s missing.”

            “You see,” a voice called out, echoing throughout the room. “It’s a little too late for that.”

            Uriel whipped around, eyes darting wildly. “Who’s there?!” he hollered. “Show yourselves!”

            “Not so sure you’ll be happy to see me,” the voice called. “But my advise to you is to let him go and we can all work this out together, like common, reasonable adults.”

            “Then why are you being such a coward!” Uriel shouted.

            Suddenly, Gabriel stepped out from behind one of the tarps, a gun leveled on Uriel. “I don’t think that’s the word you want to use to describe me,” he said coldly.

            Uriel gawked and then recovered quickly. “ This does not involve you brother. Leave now, before I’m forced to do something I don’t want to do.”

            “Oh, really?” Gabriel said cheerfully. Raphael and Uriel were now both advancing on him. “It seems to me that you’re quite ready and willing to do something to Cassie here. What’s the difference?”

            “The difference,” Raphael said between clenched teeth, “is that this is a matter that does not concern you. You have not disgraced our family the way that Castiel has.”

            Gabriel snorted. “You mean I haven’t actively disagreed with you. Castiel has one single independent thought and you all but killed him for it.”

            Raphael shrugged. “Not yet.”

            Suddenly, cool hands were at Castiel’s, behind the chair. He barely stifled his gasp, but then he heard Dean’s quiet reassuring voice in his ear as a knife sliced through the rope around his wrists. “I’m right here, I’ve got you. Gabriel is going to take care of this, we’ll get you out of here.”

            Castiel rose quietly from his chair with Dean’s assistance, realizing now that his arms had gone numb from behind trapped behind him for so long.

            A shot rang through the air and Castiel felt a bullet whizz by his face, between he and Dean.

            “Not so fast!” Raphael yelled. Dean and Castiel froze, hands held tight together. “You think you can just leave? Just like that? _We’ve got you_ ,” he enunciated. “You’ve got another thing coming if you think you can just go!”

            Dean could feel Castiel’s hand trembling in his but he didn’t dare utter a word. Even the slightest thing had potential for Castiel to end up dead, and he couldn’t even bring himself to try to defend their actions.

            Raphael began to stalk towards them. “Castiel, you deserve to go to hell for what you’ve done. You deserve lower than hell. You are a traitor! A worthless piece of -”

            _Bang_!

            Raphael lurched, his words stalling. He glanced down to see red blossoming across his chest, flowing down his shirt. His legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor.

            Across the room, Gabriel stood calmly, gun still poised between his hands, his face grim. “You never did learn when to shut up, Raph.”

            Uriel was now definitely gawking at Gabriel. “You...how dare -! What are you thinking?”

            Gabriel lowered the gun. “I was thinking that I was sick of hearing you speak about your family like that. Now, you have one of two options. Call the police, have me charged for murder. However, if you do that, I have a select few people ready and poised to release all of your dirt across the internet and slander your name and your company in the matter of a few minutes. Which, granted, would put a lot of people out of jobs, but that’s your call. The other option, is to figure out what to do with this,” he absently waved the gun at Raphael’s body. “and leave. Release Castiel’s funds to him, because I _know_ you didn’t shut his account down, because that’d draw too much attention. Never show your face here again, or else the same thing will happen to you. Believe me, I have no qualms about death, or dealing it out to some. I’ll do it again, if it means protecting the ones I love. Trust me, you aren’t on that list.”

            Uriel was shaking almost violently, his whole body wracked with shivers. He popped the safety of his gun and dropped the magazine to the floor. He pulled out his cell phone and with shaky fingers, dialed. He held it to his face.

            “I need a cleanup crew. Don’t question it, I just need it fast. Dilly dally and your head will be on a post somewhere.” His voice was shaking though, and the threat fell flat. He looked at Gabriel, and then at Dean and Castiel. “Leave,” he said quietly. And then, “ _leave_!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the walls.

* * *

 

            The drive back to Dean’s apartment was short and quiet. Gabriel sat in the back while Dean drove and Castiel sat in the passenger seat, shaking violently. Even though Dean’s hand rested over his in the center of his seat, grounding him, he couldn’t get the sound of Gabriel’s gun going off out of his head.

            _Bang! Thud._

_Bang! Thud._

_Bang! Thud._

It played on a loop in his head, watching the blood swell and blossom across the floor around Raphael’s prone body, Uriel’s shock and disbelief, his eyes weighing the options that he had.

            _Bang! Thud._

“Cas? Castiel. I need you to open your eyes buddy, c’mon open those pretty blues for me.” Dean. Dean was talking to him. When did his eyes close? He peeled his eyelids open, blearily regarding Dean. Dean let out a breath of relief and looped an arm around Castiel, hauling him from the Impala. “Let’s get you upstairs,” he murmured.

            Castiel could vaguely acknowledge himself being carried up to the apartment, his feet dragging ever so slightly on the floor, enough to cause Gabriel to wrap his arm around Castiel’s other side, and they both carried him into the apartment. They laid him down in the bed and Dean propped pillows up around his head before going into the other room to speak with Gabriel.

            “Okay, what the fuck just happened? I may be able to hold it together for a while but I’m about to lose my shit here.”

            Gabriel blinked, looking a little bit dazed himself. “I just killed my cousin,” he murmured. His eyes cleared suddenly, a fury replacing the blurry look. “But - he’s killed so many others, I’m not sure I could have done anything else.”

            Dean paused. “Have - have you ever even killed anyone before?”

            Gabriel shook his head solemnly. “But -”

“Don’t,” Dean held up a hand. “I get it. How long do you think you can keep this to yourself? Because I refuse to get taken in as an accomplice, no matter how badly it had to be done.”

Gabriel’s gaze hardened. “I will take this to the grave with me. It’s Cassy we need to worry about.”

Dean glanced in the direction of his bedroom. “He’ll be okay. I can’t even imagine the shit he’s gone through in these recent years. He’s just...in shock. A shock that’s been a long time coming.”

“Did you know they threatened me?” Gabriel blurted.

“Huh?” Dean whipped back towards him.

“Yeah. They came to my bakery and told me that if Castiel were to ever contact me and I reached back out, they’d know and they’d kill me. They actually threatened to kill me. For helping my _cousin_. Who _they_ put on his ass. What fucks.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dean murmured.

Gabriel perked up. “Speaking of that. Do you have anything hard? I could sure as shit go for some liquor right now. Anything.” When Dean walked to the kitchen and produced a bottle of whiskey, Gabriel all but jumped up and down. “Bless,” he said when Dean slid him a tumbler.

They sat in the kitchen until Castiel dragged himself from Dean’s bedroom, eyes bleary and unfocused. He slumped his way over to Dean, lifting up Dean’s arms and pressing himself to his chest. Dean’s arms wrapped slowly around him, pulling him into a gentle embrace.

“How are you doing babe?” he asked, stroking a hand through Castiel’s hair.

Castiel grumbled and then said more clearly, “I don’t know. I’m hungry.”

Dean pulled away to drop a kiss to his forehead. “I can fix that. What are you in the mood for?”

Castiel pondered for a moment and then said decisively, “something that won’t make me vomit.”

Dean balked at that and then turned to the fridge.

They spent their evening like that, small conversation interrupted by food and alcohol. By the end of the night, Gabriel was passed out snoring on the couch and Castiel was leaning heavily against Dean again as they walked to his bedroom.

 _Thing’s will be okay in the morning,_ he told himself. _In the morning._

* * *

 

Things were marginally better in the morning. Dean woke up early and left Castiel in the bed with a kiss on the cheek so that he could get up and make pancakes. Gabriel woke to the smell of syrup and coffee; two of his favorite things. Yesterday felt like a dream, unreal. When he checked his phone, there was no news of one of ALF’s most notorious lawyers being dead. No news was good news, he guessed.

He nearly gave Dean a heart attack when he materialized in the kitchen, asking for a coffee mug and sugar.  
            “Jesus Christ, you’re just as bad as Cas!” he exclaimed, holding a hand over his heart.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “We are related.”

Dean only glared at him and pulled a coffee mug from the cabinet. “Pancakes are almost done. Keep an eye on them while I go wake him up.”

Dean padded into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking a gentle hand across Castiel’s forehead and carding his fingers through his hair. Castiel stirred slightly, and then pressed his forehead into Dean’s palm, mumbling something.

“What’s that babe?” Dean leaned closer to hear him.

Castiel’s eyes opened slowly, regarding Dean through tired eyes. He lifted a hand, wrapped it around the back of Dean’s neck and brought him down for a slow and sleepy kiss. Their lips moved together gently and each of them could feel the adoration with a soft swipe of tongue and a sigh.

When Castiel pulls away, his voice is gravelly as he says, “please tell me yesterday was just one bad nightmare.”

Dean gaze softens. “I wish it was. But there’s coffee and pancakes in the kitchen and some semblance of normality out there, so I’d like you to join us.”

Castiel looked away for a moment before nodding in acquiescence

Breakfast was quiet, save for the scrape of a fork against a plate, or the soft thud of a coffee mug being set back down. Gabriel broke the silence by saying, “I think I’m going to go home today. Not that this hasn’t been fun, but I have a bakery to run and a shooting that I’m desperate to forget at this point.” He washed his dishes, hugged Castiel, shook Dean’s hand and after a quiet shutting of a door, he was gone just as quickly as he’d arrived.

Dean and Castiel stared at each other for a long moment after he left and then both of them surged forward, their lips meeting violently, teeth clacking against teeth, hips grinding into hips. Dean let out a moan into Castiel’s mouth and he swallowed it hungrily. His hands slid under Dean’s T-shirt and swiftly lifted it over his head. Dean’s arms went up willingly, and he threw himself back to Castiel before the fabric even had time to hit the floor.

Somehow, Castiel maneuvered them backwards towards the bedroom. Dean wasn’t sure how that happened, but next thing he was aware of, was that Castiel’s mouth was no longer on his and he was getting shoved to the bed. He bounced slightly and then Castiel was yanking his pants down his legs, scrabbling at his boxers before shucking his own off. The moment their skin was touching, they let out twin groans of both pleasure and relief. They were overheated, already sweating and the room smelled of lust and barely contained arousal.

Castiel ground his hips downwards and Dean thrust upwards, chasing the sensation. Castiel leaned back down and captured his lips in another bruising kiss. They were panting into into each others mouth, less of a kiss and more of an exchange of warm air between pressing their tongues together hungrily.

Finally, Castiel worked up the strength to speak, to let the words he’d been thinking about all morning spill forward, “Dean let me fuck you. Please, _please_ I want to be inside of you, please let me fuck you.”

“ _Fuuuck_ ,” Dean groaned. “God, yes you can. Right now, fuck right now.”

Castiel chuckled, the sound delicious and sending heat down Dean’s spine. “I’m not doing this without some prepwork, babe. Do you have lube?”

Dean whined and rolled Castiel off to the side so that he could reach over and grab it from the shelf at the bottom of his bedside table. He all but threw it at Castiel who caught it deftly between his hands.

He leaned forwards to kiss Dean again, sucking his tongue into his mouth and flicking his own over it. Dean whimpered at the back of his throat and Castiel pulled away and whispered over his lips, “how do you want this?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Dean babbled mindlessly. “Just -” he swallowed. “Just get in me, I don’t care how.” He was breathless and choking on his words.

Castiel nodded his agreement and gently turned Dean over onto his hands and knees. “It’ll hurt less this way,” he pressed a kiss to the knobs of Dean’s spine, watching the muscles under his skin twitch and jump at the sensation.

He ran a gentle finger down Dean’s spine and just barely over his entrance. Dean shivered and shook, letting out a keening sound. Castiel did it again and this time Dean all out whined.

He laughed under his breath and squeezed lube onto his fingers, rolling it around a little bit, warming it up before unceremoniously pressing a finger to Dean’s entrance. It was accepted easily and Dean found himself rocking his hips backwards ever so slightly, trying to pull it in even a little bit further. Castiel laughed again and pulled away to add more lube before carefully adding another finger, allowing Dean to adjust a little bit before his hips hitched back again, taking his fingers greedily.

It took like what felt like forever for Castiel to deem Dean ready to take his cock. By that time, Dean was barely supporting himself on his elbows, his sweaty hair brushing over the bedspread underneath them. He was writhing, aching to be filled, to feel Castiel inside of him.

Castiel; the man who changed his life in just under a year. The man who he was slowly falling in love with.

It was at that moment that Castiel entered him in a slow, controlled slide, punching his breath from him, making him moan weakly at the sensation of the stretch, of being filled so completely.

"Fuck - Cas you're so fucking - fuck! - good at this! I thought you said - _oooh_ \- that you'd never gotten this - " his words cut off as Castiel thrust at such an angle that his cock head brushed against his prostate, his words falling away with a whining moan.

“What was that?” Castiel’s voice was a dirty whisper in his ear. And then there was a flick of tongue against the shell of his ear, a breathless moan and Dean tightened around Castiel, trying to stave off the impending orgasm. Castiel’s moan gave way to an all out cry as his arms tightened around Dean, lifting him up to only his knees. Dean fucked himself down, his hands locked with Castiel’s against his chest.

With that, Dean was suddenly the one in charge. Balancing on his knees, he rode Castiel's cock like it was his job, and God, he wished that it was. Behind him, Castiel was moaning, hands tight around Dean's waist, practically picking him up and shoving him back down around his cock.

And then there was a hand wrapped tightly around his dock and his rhythm stuttered for a moment as he tried to figure out what direction his thrusts ought to be in - into the hand wrapped around him or down onto the deck inside of him? He couldn't decide and whimpered weakly at the indecision as Castiel gave a counter rhythm to his already erratic thrusts.

"God, Cas!" he exclaimed. "This - I'm not going to last long - _hyng_!" his words devolved into another sigh.

"That's the point," Castiel growled into his ear. "I want to hear you come for me Dean. Let me hear you." It was a demand and a plea wrapped in the thick velvet of his voice and Dean gave a groan that grew into a shout as he came in thick ropes across the bedspread. Castiel bit down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his body going taut as he followed suit with a muffled cry.

Dean began to fall forward and Castiel pulled him back, rolling them to the side, avoiding the stripe of come down the sheets. He pulled out carefully, relishing in the weak, protesting groan that Dean gave. Dean sighed as he was gently laid down. Castiel moved to remove the condom and toss it in the trash before laying back down, spooning Dean into his chest. He hummed slightly as Dean curled in ever closer, bringing Castiel’s arm around his chest.

“That was wonderful,” he murmured.

Dean nodded his head and pressed a gentle kiss to Castiel’s arm. “That’s certainly one word for it.” He paused. “We should do that more often.”

He felt Castiel nod into his shoulder. “I completely agree.”

And, in the arms of the man that he saved, Dean Smith drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

The following weeks were weird, at best. Dean still dropped Castiel off at Sandover at godawful hours in the morning, picking him up in the evening to come home to a takeout dinner,or whatever new meal Dean concocted. Their mornings were lazy and peaceful, filled with quiet kisses and slow showers. Sometimes, if Castiel found himself unable to sleep, he’d wake Dean up and ask to be fucked gently into the mattress at four in the morning. Dean always obliged, and often fell back asleep until the alarm went off again at seven. They were tentative around each other outside of the bed, all slow kisses and lingering touches.

And then Sam visited, and it got weirder. There was no chance to ease him into their relationship change, seeing that he walked into the kitchen one morning while Dean and Castiel shared a lazy morning kiss over their coffee mugs. Sam cleared his throat and Dean jumped back so fast, it was amazing that he didn’t spill his coffee all over himself. Castiel merely blinked at him, personally offended to have his morning routine so rudely interrupted. Dean barely managed to stutter something to Sam before he turned on his heel and walked stiffly into the other room.

Naturally, Sam took it personally that Dean never informed him of their change in relationship and it took Castiel sitting down with them and explaining that, no, their intention wasn’t to hide anything, that it had just come so naturally they’d forgotten that it may have been a big deal. With that, Castiel pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s mouth before offering Sam some breakfast.

And that was that.

Neither of them brought up the shooting, but it was still like a dark cloud, pregnant with rain that refused to drop. And then one night, it did.

It was thundering loudly, something that Castiel had grown used to in his childhood, something that he could sleep through easily.

Dean wasn’t so lucky.

It took a particularly loud whip- _crack_ of thunder and he was flailing awake, screaming, “no, _Cas_!” His movements and desperate shout shook Castiel from his sleep and he barely managed to avoid getting an arm to the face as Dean tried to reorient himself.

Sitting up, Dean sat there gasping for breath, one hand held over his racing heart, the other pulling roughly at his hair. Castiel sat up with a muffled yan and rubbed a hand over Dean’s back. “Talk to me babe,” his voice was low, scratchy from sleep.

Dean swallowed and took a shallow breath. “I - we...it...we got there too late. It was too late to save you and - and -”

Castiel pressed a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck, feeling his breath leave him in a short _whoosh_. “I’m right here, though,” he whispered. “Could I be doing this if I weren’t here?” He was still rubbing small circles between Dean’s shoulder blades, peppering kisses across his sweat damp skin. “Lay back down, I’m right here.” He gently pulled Dean back to a prone position and moved himself to wrap around Dean’s body. Castiel slotted a leg between Dean’s and wrapped his arms tightly around Dean’s midsection. His kisses continued until he felt Dean’s breath even out, slow and smooth, the tension draining from his body.

It was something he hadn’t thought of a lot, something he refused to think about, really. He was staring at the end of his life a handful of weeks ago. His own brothers were ready to kill him, ready to wipe him from this life with a well-placed bullet.

He’d almost died.

It was hard to think about, mostly because there was still the residual fear that his existence put Dean’s at risk, as if his brother might burst through the doors at any moment and kill them both as they slept. He’d known they were ruthless, he just hadn’t realized how far they’d be willing to go to completely get rid of him.

At the same time, though, he had them to thank for meeting Dean. Had they not forced him out onto the streets, he’d have never met Donny or Victor and likely would have never been showering at Sandover long enough to come across Dean. He might have never gotten pneumonia, but he was ever grateful that Dean had been there to help him recover, to let him move in.

It made his heart skip just a little bit, knowing that he had Dean now. Dean wanted to be with _him_. Even with all the horrible things he’d done, his entire background and not having seen Star Wars or Lord of the Rings...Dean still wanted him.

Dear God, he was in love with Dean Smith.


End file.
